


Merrie

by Llewcie



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Spacedogs - Fandom
Genre: Hannibal Extended Universe, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Mercenary!Nigel, Merrie Olde England, Robin Hood AU (kinda), Slow Burn, Spacedogs Appreciation Week, Strangers to Lovers, Viscount!Adam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-19 14:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5970226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Llewcie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam doesn't reverse-engineer gunpowder for the fame and inevitable wealth-- he does it because his father is sad.  But it sets off a chain of events that forces him to relocate to London to teach the king's alchemists how to make things explode.  However, the king isn't the only one who wants to make things explode.  Robin of the Merries, an egalitarian group of pirates and thieves, sends her best mercenary to 'rescue' Adam from the king's guard.  Enter Nigel, a battle-hardened war veteran who is not a fucking baby sitter, thank you very fucking much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boom

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a bad week, so I'm posting a bit early. This is a finished work, and i'll be posting a chapter a day until it's done. Happy 2016 Spacedogs Appreciation Week! Approximately a billion thanks to my beta, Amelita, who endured the scrapping of the first six chapters and has beta'd this fucking thing three times. Amelita, you are a godsend. Thank you to Cognomen for the wonderful idea of naming Bors and Vanora's children with Latin numbers. And thank you to all you Spacedogs peeps who keep this ship alive with love and manips and fic and more love.

[ ](http://postimage.org/)

Adam liked to be the one to show his brother new things, so Charlie was on hand when the attic exploded. It was a small explosion, all things considered, but the casualties included a corner of the roof, a Venetian glazed window, and one of Charlie's eyebrows. Adam had also earned a burn mark on the insides of his wrists that scabbed over nastily. In the end the incident earned Adam a shrill, angry lecture from his nervous father, the Earl Franklyn of Doncaster, until Adam was finally allowed to explain what he had done.  
   
"You what?" The Earl was a great collector of weaponry, although not made for war himself, and had a large armory full of unusual curiosities which he would show to anyone who dared set foot in the house for a social call. Included was a portable crossbow called an arbalest that none of them were strong enough to arm without help, and a beautifully engraved claymore from Scotland, which was so heavy with its two-handed grip that Adam, nearly twenty-four, could not swing it over his head. Amidst the collection was also a fire lance-- a weapon from the Far East that spat projectiles after being lit on fire. The Earl had paid a large sum to acquire it and then had been mortified when he could not get it to work. He had hoped that the king might finally pay him a visit, so that he would have a chance to ingratiate himself with the court, and his disappointment had been palpable.  
   
"I can make the fire spear work, father." Adam sat rigidly at the table, uncomfortable from his father's outburst but accustomed enough that it didn't make him want to immediately retreat upstairs. He pressed his fork tines into a potato. "It was most difficult to accurately reproduce the ratio of the three major components, those being saltpeter, charcoal, and brimstone." He looked thoughtfully down at his plate. "The purity of the saltpeter was also an issue, since what I dug up from the stable yard was not usable. I was able to--"  
   
"You can make the spear work?" Franklyn seemed stuck just there, his eyes round and hopeful. Adam sighed, realizing that his father wasn't quite understanding his process. He tried again.  
   
"It took many tries, but the treatises from Iceland about purifying brimstone were very helpful, once I was able to translate them." He caught a bright grin from his brother, who had enjoyed loudly complaining when Adam filled their attic workshop with the eye-watering stench of rotten eggs. Adam frowned at his brother, although not too sternly, because Charlie had been very helpful once he had gotten over his dramatics. "The brimstone--"  
   
"So it can fire projectiles?" Franklyn still looked interested, but was oddly fixated on, to Adam, the least interesting part of the process. He had been working with the black powder formula for two years. Charlie had more than once expressed his sheer astonishment that Adam had not burnt down the manor house, to which Adam had always protested he took more than adequate precautions. The worst explosion had not even been in the house, but in the empty stables, when Adam had discovered it was better to use ceramic in the grinder than steel, since steel reliably gave off sparks.  
   
Adam nodded curtly, and listened politely to his father talking excitedly about how thrilled everyone at court might be, now uncertain that he should have mentioned it at all. He let his father chatter without interruption as he finished his dinner, and then excused himself. And for a month, everything was quiet, so he allowed himself to relax back into his alchemical experimentation. With the black powder formula worked out, he lost interest in it, and focused more on using different kinds of local wood to produce charcoal. Willow was his favorite. Blackthorn was less than optimal.  
   
The peace didn't last. His father called him down one morning, clutching a letter in his soft, pale hands. "The king," trilled Franklyn, "has requested that you demonstrate the workings of the fire lance at court in London, Adam."  
   
His stomach plunged into his shoes. Not in a thousand years had Adam anticipated that he would be forced to parade his work in front of the king and his court. "Father, what did you tell him? Absolutely not!"  
   
Franklyn ignored his protest. Charlie, who was sitting at the table working on his Latin, was wide-eyed at Adam's blank refusal. "I told him you had discovered something amazing! He will receive us as soon as we can reach London. This is a tremendous opportunity, Adam!" For him. certainly. Adam felt faint.  
   
"I'm not going, father." Anxiety roiled in his belly at the thought of facing all those people-- all the insipid questions of the royal alchemists. All the jealousy and the barbs about his age and experience. "I can't go."  
   
This was clearly not what Franklyn expected, although anyone who had lived in the same house as Adam for twenty-four years should not have been surprised. He had never understood his eldest son; why would anyone rather be alone in his room than schmoozing in the midst of a crowd? Adam was intelligent beyond what should have been able to spring from his loins, and he had on occasion enjoyed his son's cleverness, but it had never amounted to anything _important_. All Franklyn had ever wanted was to be important, and his small life so far from London had never given him an ounce of leverage. Until now. Flustered, he tried appealing to Adam's loyalty. "You will go, Adam. It is your duty, to crown and country."  
   
Adam had no particular loyalty. "It is a curiosity, father. Nothing more." This was a blatant lie, and even Charlie knew it. A substance that would blow up a roof had a hundred possibilities, nearly all of them bad. He tried to downplay. "At most it can be used to make pretty fire flowers in the air. Wait until I have devised a way to make them work, and then I will perhaps go to London." He rarely lied, loathing dishonesty in other people, but he was feeling angrily justified.  
   
Franklyn was not above forcing the matter. "You _must_ go, Adam. I order you to do so."  
   
"I will not go." Adam turned and retreated to his bedroom, his heart pounding and his stomach clenching with painful intensity. He knew that his father would not let this go. It was unbearable to think that he could be made to go to London. He curled into his bed, fully clothed, and rocked himself, his mind in a welter of fear. Much later, when the sky was dark and his fire had burned down to dim coals, he felt his brother, a slender boy now just nineteen, crawl into his bed and squeeze Adam tightly. It had always been this way-- the younger taking care of the older when the world was too much to process. Charlie understood that the world hurt his brother, and did what small things he could to shelter him. Adam shuddered, a sob clawing up from his belly, as he let his brother weigh him down into the goose-down mattress, making soft noises of comfort, and eventually they both slept.  
   
It was a week before his father would speak to him again, and by then it was too late. One morning he came down to his breakfast of honeyed bread and eggs, and Charlie was not in his customary seat at the table. His father looked grim, which was uncharacteristic of the normally cheerful man. Adam asked after his brother, who never missed breakfast, and Franklyn shook out a napkin with angry focus. "He has been taken into the king's custody."  
   
"What! Why?" Charlie was the sweetest child in all of England. "What has he done?"  
   
"Nothing," his father snapped. "It's because of your refusal, Adam. I tried to explain… about the-- about the _fire flowers_ \--!" And with that, Franklyn burst into tears. Adam was too astonished to react, his breakfast forgotten. Franklyn glared at him through watery red eyes. "The king insists on your presence in London. He is keeping Ch--Charlie until you comply."  
   
"Where?" he demanded, his voice pitchy with fear.  
   
Franklyn shivered. "Lincoln Castle. As a guest, for now, to study his Latin." The rest was implied, that his accommodations depended entirely on his brother's cooperation.  
   
And there it was. Adam's heart squeezed in his breast until he could not breathe. He had put his brother at risk with his own weakness. A scream rose up inside him, something that hadn't happened since he was young. He stifled it, just barely, and rose from the table. By the time he got back to his room he was shaking so badly he could no longer stand. There was nothing he could do, and he was helpless in the storm of his terror. He squeezed himself against the door in his bedroom, his back to it, his arms covering his head, and wept.  
   
***  
   
All the arrangements had been made. Adam had packed his alchemy equipment, his notes, his spare materials, and carefully wrapped in airtight paper and thick wool, along with an insulating layer of India rubber, the remaining black powder in a little wooden keg. He didn't especially want to travel with it, but he had little choice. There was an escort of four armed guards to accompany him, as if his little brother's imprisonment wasn't enough motivation. The king had not sent a carriage, possibly to underline his disapproval, and so Adam had a week of hard travel to dread along with everything else. He could only hope that he would be too exhausted to be overcome with the crippling anxiety that he had been dealing with for the past several days.  
   
His father pulled him aside the morning of his departure, his own face sagging and grey with exhaustion. Still, he attempted a smile that looked more ghastly than cheerful. "For what it's worth, Adam, I'm sorry it happened like this. I never expected…" But of course, he should have, and Adam fought down a surge of useless anger. He nodded tightly instead, not trusting himself enough to speak without screaming. Franklyn patted his shoulder gingerly-- Adam had never liked being touched, although he tolerated his brother's affectionate hugs well enough. "It will all work out, and I will have my boys back by Christmas." Adam thought that was an overconfident estimate, but he said nothing to correct it. Harlan, his father's valet, came down the front steps with the last of the luggage, and then helped the stable boy affix it to the pack saddle. They were bringing a single pack horse, loaded with equipment and clothing and a few necessities, and with Harlan's grey gelding and Adam's own dainty black mare. Adam had packed his own saddlebags with the well-wrapped keg of gunpowder, a few books, a change of clothing, and the small sum of money his father could spare. It wasn't much-- around five pounds, which would allow him food, housing (and clothing if he were careful) for several months. Adam couldn’t help but think that he had little to show for his life, if it could all fit in the saddlebags of a single horse.

Without another word, Adam and Harlan left the manor house behind, and Adam had never felt himself so lost in his life.


	2. Interception

[](http://postimage.org/)   


Nigel crossed the reeking river bridge several hours past York with a clatter of iron shoes and a feeling of intense frustration. He loathed being rushed for a job, especially when he had deprived himself of comfort to be slightly less rushed, sleeping rough on a cold road instead of burrowing into a cozy bed with ale and willing company. But the messenger had reached Robin only a day ago, and that put him two days behind the mark. Everyone was in a hurry for this boy, it seemed. The king was in a hurry to bring him to London, and now Robin was in a hurry to make certain that didn't happen, not for any sentimental reason but for the discovery he carried along with him. Nigel was focused on the necessity of restocking his supplies, because he might not get to sleep in a fucking bed tonight, either, if he was further behind than he hoped. His waterskin was empty, and worse, his whisky flask. He stank of damp horse and his own overripe road sweat and the harsh pipe tobacco that traveled with him everywhere. The urgency of the mission had prevented him from a wash and change, and _looking_ like a vagrant was even worse than smelling like one. It all contributed to a deep feeling of disgust, and by the time he finally spotted the inn he had been looking for he was ready to chew iron nails.  
   
He tied his bay roan gelding to a free hitch and spent a few moments rechecking the straps and buckles of his tackle. His horse, Groază, had come with him all the way from Wallachia, and had both beauty and brains. Broad in the shoulder with clean legs and a back strong enough to carry an armored rider, he had brought Nigel through war and across Europe, and had the scars to show for it. Those responsible for the scars were all dead, though, and Groază bore his marks proudly. Nigel didn’t wear armor anymore, although he still had it stowed away in the little caravan he called home, collecting dust. He beckoned a stable hand over, and gave her a few coins. "Water him and give him a measure of oats. We still have far to travel, so don't let him fucking bully you into giving him apples. " She nodded with a grin, already turning to her business. Satisfied that his horse would be looked after, Nigel ducked into the doorway of the inn.  
   
The warm room was hazy with the poor draw of a chimney in disrepair. The small woman standing behind the desk was watery-eyed with discomfort. "Looking for a room?" she asked. "It's not as bad as it looks-- we had a cheeky magpie drop a bundle of some poor soul's washing down the chimney and only just now got it out. It'll clear in no time." He smirked at her, and then sighed and shook his head, letting himself lean against the heavy wooden counter, the ache of the road deep in his lower back. He pressed a hand against it, stretching the muscle and easing the strain.  
   
"I require food for traveling, enough for a few days. Fruit, if you have it?" She perked up, mildly more animated. Code phrases always seemed to excite the people who weren't up to their elbows in it.  
   
"No fruit. We sold our last four apples…" she scrunched up her nose in thought. "Less than an hour ago."  
   
Finally, good news, in that he was less than an hour behind. Four guards, though… that was annoying but not troubling. He grimaced politely. "That's a fucking shame. I'll just take water and whisky, then, and a loaf of bread and cheese."  
   
"We've got a nice roast on, sir, if you'd like a slice." Since she knew he was on business and unable to stay, she would make what sale she could. He grinned at her and set down a few extra coins. He'd charge Robin for incidental business expenses.  
   
"Five minutes, love." He handed her his waterskin and flask, and then went back out to Groază. The gelding was deep in a nose bag, so Nigel took the opportunity to check his hooves for stones.  
   
The stablehand tsked at him. "Did that already, and checked his tack." She produced a small stone and waved it at him. And he thought that _he_ was a mercenary. He laughed and ruffled her short hair, and she sputtered and hopped out of his reach.  
   
"Another coin for your thoroughness if you kip in and get my dinner." Her eyes narrowed but she darted in as he lifted himself back into the saddle. Before he was even balanced, she was back out, his gear and a paper-wrapped parcel in one hand as she held out the other. He tapped a coin into her hand and snagged his flask with the other. She handed the rest demurely up, doing a terrible job of hiding her grin. He shook his head at her. "Cheeky." She untied Groază for him, removing the empty bag and fitting his bridle back. The horse clearly liked her, shoving his nose forward to nibble at her hair, and she laughed and handed Nigel the lead, and then sketched a little bow.  
   
"Thank you for your patronage, sir."  
   
"Stay out of trouble, fauntkin." He turned Groază easily, the brief rest and refresher good for them both, and urged him into a gentle canter, a pace the charger could keep up for hours. As they worked on catching up to his mark, he ate in the saddle, sticking to water for now. He had a feeling he would need all his faculties intact.  
   
It took less than an hour to catch up to the mark. He rode past them in the dimming light, and caught Harlan's eye. Harlan gazed right past him, giving no indication that he had known Nigel for years, or that the last time they had been in each other's company, they had promised the next would end in blood. Nigel hid a grin of anticipation. Robin had people everywhere in this part of the country, at hot spots and at places of interest-- she was a spider in the middle of a large web of political intrigue and influence. Never one to sit back and be content with the taking of a coin purse here and there, Robin had expanded when she came into power. Harlan had bowed out of the mercenary game at the previous Robin's demise, and had petitioned to become a Watcher. Nigel had accused him of being involved in the assassination, but couldn't prove it. Nigel had liked the previous Robin, and Harlan liked the current one. Nigel's feelings about the current Robin were a little too complex for simple labels. For one, he knew her real name. It was Gabrielle. She was a lovely as a mountain, and just as fucking cold.  
   
He acknowledged that he might feel that way because she had spurned him. Nigel wasn't accustomed to being denied something he wanted.  
   
He scowled and shook the thought from his head. Focus on the mission, and if everything went to plan there might be a bath in his near future. He quickly outpaced his target, and was well ahead before he realized he had been too distracted getting a look at the horses and sizing up the guards to get a look at the mark. He had a physical description-- tall and slender, dark hair and pale eyes. Sounded more like a potential conquest than an alchemist, but Nigel hoped that his being the latter wouldn't preclude the former. Harlan's message had also indicated that the young Viscount's temper was delicate, and that he was likely to be frightened and unpredictable. What a fucking joy.  
   
Robin liked to call this part extraction, like pulling teeth. Nigel figured she thought she was being clever, but he had fought by her side before her coup, and she was as fierce as she was cold. He analized the situation as he continued along the road. He was outnumbered two to one, assuming both that Harlan would help and the mark would stay out of the way. The inn they would likely stop at was not one of Robin's, possibly by intent, and he would never want to risk drawing the king's anger against innocents. So, no slipping something in their ale, and no stabbing them all in their sleep. His best option was to slip the mark out the door while everyone slept, but he imagined at least one guard would be on duty no matter what. So one person at least would have to die, and quietly. Nigel fingered the cuff of throwing knives under his right sleeve and smiled with too many teeth.  
   
He reached the inn well after dusk, and patted Groază on the neck, murmuring apologies as he handed him off to another stablehand. "We've not had a chance to rest. Unsaddle him, brush him well, feed him grain mash, and let him rest. Are you going to be here all night?" He held several coins in his hand, enough to make the boy's eyes go wide as he nodded. Nigel took him by the shoulder and leaned in close. "This horse, and coming soon enough will be a dainty black Arabian. Brush them, feed them, and let them rest, but have them saddled and ready when the bells strike two hours after midnight. All the other horses, you unsaddle properly. Don't risk yourself or anyone else here by doing more than this. Do you understand?" The boy nodded his blonde head, his expression solemn, and took the coins from Nigel's hand. Nigel patted him on the head and then turned into the inn, rubbing at an old injury at his knee. He was tired and sore and the night would be a long one, but he was closer to his goal than he had been, and that counted for something.  
   
Nigel found a dark quiet corner away from the fire and nursed an ale as he ate. As tired as he was, his attention never wavered, and it was finally rewarded when the first of the king's guards pushed open the door. Nigel watched from his corner as a second guard followed, and then Harlan leading the mark. Nigel got his first good look at the boy. Dark hair curled in a fringe over light eyes of indeterminate color. He was dressed simply in a blue linen doublet that fit his slim body without an inch of spare cloth, and his hose were fine but plain grey wool. He had on natural linen braies that peeked through at the crotch where the hose didn't fold completely over each other, and beautifully grained, heavily scuffed leather boots that came to just below the knee. Very appealing, he thought-- had he known the boy would be so delicious, he wouldn't have bitched so much. No gold or silver threading in the cloth, no embroidery-- in fact, nothing to distinguish him as a Viscount at all, son and heir of nobility, except for perhaps the fine ivory of his pale skin and the blue of his doublet, a cloth color so rare as to be remarkable. Nigel would have to take care of that immediately on their departure; perhaps he could help the boy out of his clothing, he mused with a barely hidden leer. The boy's eyes were heavily shadowed, and he looked like he would fall over at a breath. Harlan looked thunderous, absolutely furious, and was gritting his teeth in a manner that Nigel was very familiar with. But of course, Harlan could not rip the king's guards a new asshole or two if he wanted to stay close to his charge.  
   
The party sat near the fire, and the mark… Adam, Nigel recalled, put his head down on the table, his fingers laced tightly over the nape of his neck, and was still. Harlan moved to the counter, where the innkeeper waited patiently, and only then did he see Nigel. The tiny flicker of recognition, and relief, was clear, as was his grey-faced exhaustion. Harlan murmured an order to the innkeeper, who nodded and turned to the kitchen in the back. Nigel took a drink while he studied the mark unobtrusively. Harlan was not an emotional person, usually-- even being accused of being accessory to murder hadn't made him more than momentarily outraged. To see him so weary, and so clearly concerned about the boy, made Nigel concerned as well. He remembered that Harlan had indicated the boy was delicate, and watching him now, his wrists pressed over his ears, made Nigel wonder if this wasn't going to be less of a kidnapping and more of a diplomatic rescue. He wished he could corner Harlan and interrogate him, but there would be little time. Instead, he tugged his jacket more comfortably over his shoulders and thumbed the steel blade handles of the knives in his thigh sheath through the neat slice in his pants, and he finished his drink.  
   
It would all come clear shortly.  
   
***  
   
Adam was exhausted, trembling with the effort to walk, his body drained by his mind's churning panic. He didn't have the energy even to eat, but simply sank down and covered himself as best as he could, his forehead pressed against the rough, sticky grain of the table. Last night in their room at the inn where they had stayed, Harlan had held him close, rocking him gently like he hadn't since just after Adam's mother had died giving birth to Charlie, as Adam did his best to regulate his breathing. They had argued on and off for hours in whispered Arabic-- Harlan's native tongue and something he taught Adam along with the customary French-- Adam insisting on going to London to keep his brother safe, and Harlan insisting equally that he could not go to London, because then _nobody_ would be safe. Harlan promised him, as much as he could promise anything, that Charlie would be alright until he could be rescued, that word would take days to reach the king and then there would be an attempt to recover Adam from kidnappers. As long as they believed Adam was kidnapped, Charlie would be kept unharmed as leverage. Neither of them had slept, and a further full day in the saddle left Adam weary to the point of tears.  
   
He recognised the mercenary from Harlan's description--tall and brazen-haired with a long braid and beard, although Harlan hadn't made him out to be nearly as handsome as he was. He didn't want to cry in front of the man who was here to… well, to kidnap him from his kidnappers, he supposed. He didn't imagine that this man would do anything more than barely tolerate him, so he saved what energy he could for what he knew was going to be an equally long night. With his thought processes in tatters, he simply held himself as still as possible and pretended he was back in his attic, grinding charcoal with his brother. The guards sat around him, talking amongst themselves and ignoring the strange boy they were tasked with in favor of letting the valet deal with his volatile moods. Eventually, after refusing a meal, he was taken up to a windowless room at the top of the inn. With one guard posted at the door and the others down in the common room playing at dice, Adam and Harlan were left to themselves. Harlan insisted he lie down and rest, and Adam was too weary to argue. As miserable as he was, he had no problem falling right into sleep.  
   
A tap on his cheek woke him, and a hand over his mouth prevented him from crying out. "Shhh, no noise." The hand over his mouth was rough and smelled like pipe tobacco and leather, and Adam wrenched himself upwards, heart thundering with fear. The mercenary from the common room gazed at him with calm, dark eyes and carefully took his hand away. "We go now. No arguing." Hazily, Adam tried to place the flavor of his accent, but it was certainly not English, nor Arabic. He took in sharp cheekbones and a nose that curved to the left, likely broken more than once, and a thick curly beard with stripes of grey. The man's face was heavily weathered and perfectly expressionless, his eyes glittering in the candlelight. Adam focused on calming his pounding heart.  
   
"Harlan? Where?" Adam whispered. The man jerked a thumb at the door to the hallway. Adam rose from the bed in a trance, already dressed, and followed the man out into the hall. The sight of a body on the floor, blood spilled in a dark glistening wash down the side of his throat, made his gorge rise unpleasantly. He felt afraid, truly afraid, for the first time. The man tugged a small knife from the throat of the guard and wiped it on the dead man's shirt. He tucked it back into a sheath under his sleeve and gripped Adam's arm. But instead of going down the stairs, the man pulled him across the hall to another room where Harlan stood on watch, his brow tight.  
   
"Did you have to kill him, Nigel?" he snapped.  
   
Nigel raised an eyebrow, which Adam knew signified a question. He didn't know what the question might be, though. "He made a noise." Harlan sighed, and then his face twisted in a way Adam didn't recognise. He turned to Adam, that strange look still on his face.  
   
"Adam, you are going to go out the window and wait for Nigel in the stable. Leave everything but the coin and the powder." As he spoke, he unlaced Adam's doublet with practiced fingers, tugging it open with impatience. "Nigel considers blue to be too rare," he murmured.  
   
"But it's my favorite, Harlan," he protested, feeling like he might be able to bear everything else if he could just hang on to this one thing.  
   
Harlan nodded, "I know. I'm sending it with you, but you can't wear it. Tuck it in your saddlebags." Mollified, Adam let him tug the doublet off his shoulder and down, and then dressed himself in a plainer brown one that Harlan had ready for him, letting the valet lace it with expert fingers. It only took a moment for the words to sink in. "You promised you would come, Harlan!" Adam wrenched himself away, fear bubbling up again. It was too much for Harlan to think he would go with this strange man. "I'm not going alone with him!" Nigel sighed heavily and turned his body to the door.  
   
Harlan frowned, tying up the blue doublet into a bundle to shove back into Adam's hands. "You must. And you know I can't," he said, his voice rough. "If I go with you, they will think you planned this."  
   
" _You_ planned this," Adam pointed out, his voice flat. "I don't want to leave. I told you I would go to London."  
   
Harlan indicated the dead guard in the hallway. "It's too late for that. I have to stay, to insure your safety. Now go. Nigel is the best there is. He will keep you safe." Adam knew what he thought about that, but the situation was rapidly leaving him behind, and Harlan's urgency was clear. They had talked about this. Adam knew what to do. He could do this. And if Harlan said that Nigel was the best, then he was. He clutched at the blue doublet tightly.  
   
"And Charlie?" Adam added.  
   
Harlan just nodded. "And Charlie. Go." He pressed a light hand against Adam's back and Adam went to the window, gazing out of it for a moment, and then looking back at Nigel.  
   
"I will wait in the stable," he said darkly. Then he tipped over the sill and was gone.  
   
***  
   
Nigel watched the boy climb awkwardly over the ledge with his little bundle and then turned back to Harlan, both eyebrows in the air.  
   
"What the fuck is wrong with him, Harlan? Because I have to tell you, I am having serious fucking misgivings."  
   
Harlan fixed him with an angry glare. "Nothing is fucking wrong with him! Nigel. He is incredibly gifted, and innocent, and full of beautiful things, and if you fuck him up I promise every god I can name that I will _end you._ " He looked murderous.  
   
Nigel could hide his surprise in the dark-- Harlan had shown more emotion in the last five minutes than Nigel had ever seen from him. "You told me this would end in blood, long ago."  
   
Harlan glared at him for a long moment, and then deflated. "This isn't want I wanted when I promised his mother I would protect him."  
   
Nigel raised an eyebrow at the admission. "Is he yours?"  
   
Harlan huffed a self-depreciating noise. "He might as well be." And he locked his jaw and looked determined to say nothing more on the matter. He nodded at the floor, and took a deep breath. "Alright, Nigel. Free pass. Just what you've always wanted. Just make it look good, you fucking dick."  
   
Nigel grinned at him, eyes flashing in the dim lantern light. "I always do."


	3. Flight

Beating the living shit out of Harlan would have been much more satisfying if the man hadn't been so openly worried about Adam. Nigel still _enjoyed_ it, of course, but he found himself apologising at the wheezing old man, face swollen and bloody on the floor, before he ducked out of the window. The guards were still at their dice game-- Nigel had left them with full cups of ale and knew he had perhaps half an hour before the dead guard and then Harlan would be discovered. That was plenty of time to get them deep into the woods, neatly hidden off road and on the way to Bors' farm, where Nigel intended to get a few hours of sleep and definitely a fucking bath.  
   
Adam was waiting quietly in the stable, stroking his horse's neck and talking quietly to her. The stable hand was nowhere to be found, but he had done as promised and both horses were saddled. Adam turned at the noise of Nigel's footsteps, and spoke without meeting his eyes. "The black powder is not here. It must be in the room where the guards are sleeping. We have to go back."  
   
Nigel knew Robin was going to be pissed, but there was nothing for it. He shook his head. "We can't go back for it."  
   
Adam raised his eyes almost high enough to meet Nigel's. "Harlan said it was too dangerous to take to court. We have to get it back." His voice was flat and too loud. Nigel was already exasperated, and they weren't even ten minutes into this whole debacle. He shook his head a second time, hopefully more firmly, and swung up onto Groază, the gelding moving restlessly under him.   
   
"Leave it to Harlan. Get on the fucking horse now, Adam." He didn't raise his voice but it was a near thing. Pretty or not, the boy was going to get them both killed. Mulishly, Adam refused to move for a moment longer.  
   
"Harlan doesn't know they have it. They also took my coin." His voice was entirely without inflection, but he was swaying back and forth in an agitated manner. Nigel held a quick debate with himself, wondering if Adam would follow if he left right now, and decided that it was too much of a risk. He made as if to get off his horse, and then paused as Adam flinched, his eyes suddenly full of fear. Shit. Fucking shit. Nigel eased back into the saddle, and tried to modulate his voice. They had minutes, if that.  
   
"I have enough coin for us both. Harlan will need it. Now get on the thrice-cursed god damned fucking horse, Adam, or I will throw you over my fucking saddle and leave your beautiful mare to the fucking wolves." He was proud that his voice was calm, that the volume didn't waver much above a whisper, and Adam's eyes were gratifyingly the size of dinner plates. He wavered, and then finally-- _finally_ mounted his little black Arabian.  
   
"You swear a lot. I don’t know what to call you, and I can keep calling you "The Man" or "The Mercenary" in my head, but I heard Harlan call you Nigel. Should I call you that instead?"   
   
Nigel let a gusty sigh escape his chest as he maneuvered Groază out of the stable and into the dark alley behind the inn. The dainty mare followed placidly, and Nigel was intensely thankful for at least one creature who wasn't going to argue with him. He turned back to Adam. "Nigel is fine. Now please shut the fuck up and follow as close and as quietly as you can."  
   
Adam opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again. For a tremulous moment, Nigel thought he was going to cry, and if that happened Nigel didn't know what he would do. Maybe cry himself. But Adam didn't make a noise , just pressing close behind Nigel as they sank into the shadows of the inn and out into the night.  
   
***  
   
The quiet dark of the woods did wonders to sooth Adam's rabbiting heart. He gave Blackfeather her head and she followed neatly behind Nigel's big scarred warhorse. There was a half-moon in the sky, and for a moment Adam's fingers itched to peer at her through his scope. It, at least, was still securely tied to the saddle, wrapped in wool and leather. Nothing was familiar except for Blackfeather under him and the scope at its customary place, and if Adam closed his eyes he could believe he was riding away from his father's home to a dark hilltop where he could see the whole wideness of the sky. Not that England was a good place to view the stars, exactly-- Harlan liked to tell him stories of the desert, and afterwards Adam had often dreamed about endless dune-rippled expanses of gold, burning by day and freezing at night, where the stars were scattered in generous handfuls across the black velvet sky. Now, as he peered upwards, he could see that clouds obscured most of the field. It wasn't a night where he would bother to go out to the hill. He sighed, and reluctantly turned his attention to the man in front of him.  
   
Nigel. Who Harlan had explained in hurried whispers was from Wallachia. Who fought in the wars there for freedom from Poland. Who had come to England via a long and winding path across Europe and Arabia. Who had met Harlan a few years before Adam had been born, and had suffered a falling out with him, and had stayed with the Merries when Harlan had come to be a Watcher-- those sent out to gather information and provide ground support to the Merrie's more active mercenaries. After Adam's mother had died in childbirth, Harlan had lost much of his brightness, but Harlan stayed for Adam, had taught him patiently when his father couldn't understand him, and had encouraged his pursuits. When he traveled, he always brought back treasures-- from Samarkand had come the scope and his beautiful Blackfeather-- just a tiny little thing then, and from a market on the edge of the Arabian desert in Morocco had come the fire lance. Adam sincerely wished he had never seen the cursed thing. Now he was in the custody of a brute of a man, a warrior-turned-mercenary with dark eyes and hidden knives, and Adam wanted to be brave, but he felt like a mouse in the company of a lion. Of course, at least once, that story had turned out well, he admitted to himself.  
   
His thoughts were interrupted when Nigel stopped ahead of him and turned back to Adam. His eyes glimmered in the moonlight but Adam could not read their expression-- not that he would be able to do so in adequate lighting. Adam was not good at guessing what people were thinking, although he recognized basic facial expressions sometimes. Nigel's face was a total blank-- completely unreadable. Nigel's hand reached out and tugged Blackfeather forward so that Adam's knee was pressed against the warhorse's withers. Nigel bowed his head close while Adam gazed at him impassively. "We have a bit of traveling to do," he said quietly, his rich, modulated accent belying his road-worn clothing. "I have a friend not far from here who will provide us security for the night, while we decide what to do."  
   
Adam scowled, unhappy at where this was going. How many new people did he have to meet in one night? He focused on the important thing. "We need to rescue Charlie."  
   
Nigel raised an eyebrow, his mouth quirking upward. "At Lincoln Castle."  
   
"Yes."  
   
"Just you and me."  
   
"Harlan told me that you were a warrior."  
   
Nigel fell silent at that for a moment, studying Adam. Then he grinned, one of the basic expressions Adam could identify, but to Adam it did not look happy. At all. "I am, darling, but I'm no god to take on an entire squadron of soldiers."  
   
Adam processed this for a moment, his heart sinking. If Nigel believed they needed a deity on their side to gain back his brother… "Then Harlan lied. You cannot help me. My brother will suffer, and my father will suffer, and all for nothing because the soldiers still hold the black powder. I am just as much a captive here than I was before." His heart churned in his chest. All for nothing.  
   
Nigel set a warm palm on Adam's leg, and he flinched sharply back, Blackfeather tugging at her reins restlessly. Nigel's eyes widened, and he dropped his hand away, frowning. "Not for nothing did Harlan want you safe, Adam. We can get your brother away, but not by a frontal assault. Just…" He pressed the offending hand to his forehead, his brow wrinkling downward. "Just trust Harlan, if you can't trust me."  
   
Adam stared at the place where Nigel had touched him. His knee tingled with awareness. "I don’t know you," he murmured.   
   
A long pause, and then, "I hope someday you will want to."  
   
Adam had nothing to say to that.  
   
***  
   
They traveled without pursuit deep into the woods, following obscure trails marked out by flashes of chalk scraped on the tree trunks and illuminated by moonlight. Nigel was grateful for the silence; he preferred that the boy not speak at all if he was going to continue leveling accusations of incompetence in that curiously emotionless voice. Harlan had said nothing was wrong with him, but Nigel wasn't accustomed to being so thoroughly rebutted. It stung, and especially from a boy so beautiful as to be almost fae-like. In some things, Nigel favored living the unexamined life, because it was safer for his heart-- he was still less than indifferent from Gabrielle's rejection, and that had been ages ago. The last thing he needed was to be more than professionally interested in such a dangerous mark. And not because Harlan would murder him; that was the least of his concerns. No, Adam was an intersection of bad ideas-- royalty, on the king's shit list, defiant, brilliant… lovely, with a willowy body and strong jaw. Deep brown curls that were thick enough to be two handfuls.   
   
Shit. Nigel gritted his teeth, and nudged Groază to go a little faster. The sooner he was done with this job, the better for absolutely fucking everyone involved. Especially himself.  
   
They were in the woods for what seemed like hours, but the skies were still dark when Nigel crossed the trunk road that led across the Commons of Pontifract to Bors' farm. He thought fondly of Bors, having fought beside him on English soil before Bors left to marry his beloved Vanora and have as many children as two people could possibly have in one lifetime. He hoped Bors still thought fondly of him, because he was too tired to contemplate anything else. The farm was just stirring when they finally rode up into the front yard, where one of the older children was pumping water from the well. She saw them and dropped the bucket, went immediately into the house, yelling for her father. Nigel laid a hand on Adam's mare, since the boy himself was so fucking jumpy, and held them both still. It wasn't Bors that came to the door but Vanora-- a strong woman of as much beauty as personality. She didn't look very pleased to see Nigel, but that was pretty common, so Nigel didn't ever let it bother him. She stood in the illuminated doorway, hands on her broad hips, and frowned.  
   
"Nigel, you haven't brought trouble to my door." Nigel blinked. He opened his mouth to answer, but she just waved a hand. "Oh, don't bother lying, you old badger." She sighed and rubbed her eyes. A tiny blond head peaked out from behind her skirts. "Mr. Nigel!" squeaked a tiny voice, and suddenly a flurry of overlong skirts and sleeves and golden hair was barreling towards him. He dismounted neatly from Groază to meet the little tornado and lift it up in his arms, smiling broadly.  
   
"Little Decima, not so little anymore, eh?" The small girl squeaked again as he settled her in his arms.  
   
"Mama says I'm huge!" She looked delightedly proud, and he laughed. Another laugh behind him startled him enough to spin around, and gaze up at Adam, who was beaming down at them. If Nigel had thought he was beautiful before, he was nothing short of radiant when he smiled. To cover his surprise, Nigel focused back on Decima, who was gazing thoughtfully at the stranger.  
   
"Decima, this is Adam. He is traveling with me."  
   
"Hello Mr. Adam," she said brightly. "I like your horse! She's the prettiest horse I've ever seen!"  
   
Adam's eyes widened at being addressed, and his smile softened. "Her name is Blackfeather. She is Arabian, a desert horse."  
   
Decima's eyes, if possible, grew even wider. "Did she walk all the long way to England?"  
   
Nigel and Adam both laughed, and Adam immediately looked shyly down at his hands. "No," he answered gently. "She walked part of the way, and then at Antalya, in Turkey, she was put on a ship, and she sailed across the Mediterranean Sea, through the Strait of Gibraltar, and around France to London."  
   
Nigel could tell she was gearing up for about a million questions, and he at once wanted to listen to her speak so effortlessly to Adam for as long as he could and on the other hand wanted to sleep for a week. At that moment Bors appeared from the back stableyard and gave a boisterous roar, and Nigel set Decima gently down so that he could weather the backbreaking embrace of his friend.  
   
"You old bastard! How are you?" Bors clapped him heavily on the back, and Nigel had to hang on to Groază not to stumble. He groaned, only half playfully, and held up both hands.   
   
"My gigantic friend, you have only grown more powerful in your dotage." Bors grinned at him, his sharp eyes taking in everything about Nigel and Adam in one sweeping glance.   
   
"You have indeed brought trouble to our door, old dog." Bors' voice was mild with censure, but not angry. He turned to Adam. "Introduce us?"  
   
Nigel waved a hand at Adam, and the young man slowly dismounted. He looked stiff and awkward and every bit as exhausted as a person might be after being forced to endure unaccustomed travel for days on very little sleep, on top of fleeing captors in the middle of the night. "Bors, Vanora, this is Adam."  
   
Bors waited for him to continue, but Nigel wasn't about to. He frowned, showing a flash of teeth. "The less you know, the better."  
   
"Is he a wanted man?"  
   
The way Adam looked at the ground was a dead giveaway. Nigel sighed. He was really going to have to work on a few things with the boy. But thankfully, Vanora only nodded, resigned, and held her hand out to Adam. Surprisingly, he took it, hesitating only a little. "Come, dearheart, you look done in. Let me settle you in bed." She turned to another of her older children. "Gilly, take Quinten and Septima and take care of these poor horses. Don't leave them in the yard-- put them in the closed stalls." She narrowed her eyes at Nigel. "Well, come on, then." With that, she turned back to the house, Adam in tow. Bors looked at Nigel and shrugged, and then clapped him on the back, painfully.  
   
"I suppose you're allowed to stay, then, my old friend."  
   
Nigel covered his wince with a leer. "I should take him with me everywhere." Bors laughed at that, as they went into the house.  
   
There was a redistribution of children to be managed, and Nigel sat with Adam at the dining table as Bors set a plain breakfast of eggs and bread and butter in front of them. Adam fell to with little prodding, and Nigel only realized how hungry he was when he smelled the warm eggs on his plate. He ate as a reprieve from questions, until Decima shoved herself in-between them. She peppered Adam with questions about his horse, and he answered her as best as he could between bites of food. By the end of breakfast Nigel had learned that she was called Blackfeather because her mane and tail were so soft, that she was a desert horse but didn't seem to mind the constant rain, that he oiled her hooves to keep them strong and that she was shod with special shoes because her feet were so dainty. When Decima began pressing about their reasons for traveling, Adam spun her a story about traveling the countryside to visit libraries, and Nigel relaxed very slightly in his seat. Bors sat with them and didn't interrupt, but Nigel knew he was just biding his time until he could speak without little ears listening in.  
   
Vanora bustled back into the kitchen and announced their bedroom was ready. Nigel grunted a thank you as she showed them in to the cozy little room, at the end of the hall, housing a single large rope frame and thickly stuffed mattress that smelled of heather and clean straw, covered with bright quilted blankets. There was a braided rug on the floor. "I managed to clear the one bed. Bors said you wouldn't mind sharing, Nigel." He knew full well that Bors had said no such thing, since they hadn't had a moment to speak, but then, Vanora was a devious person and saw far more than even her wily husband. She eyed Adam while he wasn't looking, her eyes appraising. "Or you can take the floor-- there's blankets enough." She grinned cheekily at him, and he kissed her cheek, his own flooding with heat.   
   
"Fucking Bors," he laughed ruefully. "Meddling where he shouldn't." And she knew that he meant her, but he didn't protest further. She kissed his cheek in return, and Adam's, which made the young Viscount blush, and then took herself off to start her day again. Adam paused in the doorway.  
   
"There's only one bed."  
   
Nigel resisted sarcasm. He wasn't irritated with Adam, but himself, and Vanora who had never had to provide more than one bed for Nigel when he was visiting, either by himself or not. Add to that that Adam was exactly the type of beauty that Nigel would be pleased to share a bed with. Hell, Adam was the type of beauty that anyone would be pleased to share a bed with. Vanora would have to be disappointed, however. Things were already enough out of control, and Adam didn't seem the type to take casual bedmates, anyway. "I'm sleeping on the floor. The bed is for you, Adam."   
   
Adam wrinkled his nose, and for a moment Nigel thought he would flatly refuse, but then he shrugged, clearly too tired to argue. He walked further into the room, tugging the bows out of his laces and unthreading the brown doublet to reveal a soft linen shirt underneath. Nigel turned his head before he was caught staring as the young lord undressed. Adam sat to tug off his boots and hose, folded everything neatly at the foot of the bed, and then crawled into bed in his braies and undershirt, sighing in relief. Nigel made quick work of his own clothing, stripping down to his smallclothes and neatly unstrapping more than half of his knives-- he felt more safe in this house than in most, after all, and finally blew out the bedside candle before he curled himself up in the blankets against the soft, thick rug.   
   
Adam didn't speak again, but Nigel could hear his rapid breathing, and he wanted to do something, but he had no idea what to do. Not the first idea how to comfort the boy, or why he felt like he wanted to. Soft morning light from the breaking dawn filtered in through the curtains, and Nigel closed his eyes, turning into the darkness beneath the bed. As tired as he was, sleep was a long time coming.


	4. Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the positive comments and kudos-- they quite literally make my day! You guys are wonderful <3 Plus i just realized that the very first thought Nigel has when he wakes is that he should have tied Adam to the bed. He might be in trouble. Let me know if there's something you liked!

When Nigel woke, he checked the bed first. It was empty. He groaned as he stretched, feeling impossibly old and tired, and cursed himself for not tying the pup to the bed. If the young Viscount had gone off on his own… it didn't bear thinking about. The light that filtered in through the window now was golden with the slanting afternoon sun, and he dragged himself out of bed, tugging on enough clothing and knives to be both decent and armed, and stumbled into the kitchen. 

Immediate relief flooded him when he saw Adam standing at a counter with a pile of vegetable peelings, studying the shape of a turnip in his hands. While Nigel watched, he carefully angled his knife and peeled off a thin curl of white. The curl became longer and longer as Adam turned the turnip carefully, until it drooped past Adam's knee and into Decima's waiting hands. They were both grinning, and made such a charming picture that Nigel felt a little pang somewhere deep in his ribcage. He cleared his throat, and the peel fell free, fluttering from where Adam had sliced across it. He looked at Nigel, fear momentarily on his face until it smoothed into a sort of guarded blankness.

Well. That was just how it fucking was. He would be foolish to expect any different, to think that anyone as sheltered and lovely as Adam would welcome a scarred and broken old warhorse like him stealing him away from everything he knew. Disliking the feeling of self-pity, he scowled and turned to go, hoping to maybe wash and change before he had to face any more unpleasantness. A small sound stopped him, and he turned back to see that Adam had come a step closer. His eyes were steady but wide, focused on Nigel's torso, and Nigel resisted covering the scar with his hands. It bisected his left flank brutally, still an angry pink after all these years. Adam came another step closer his hand reaching out, and for a heady moment Nigel thought he was going to touch the rucked skin, but his hand fell back to his side.

"How did you survive?" Adam's voice was just a little rough. His eyes didn't move. Nigel rubbed at the scar himself, trying to erase the ghosting feel of Adam's almost-touch.

"I washed it with vodka, and stitched it together with the wire wrapped around the hilt of my arming sword." He gazed down at the rippled skin, the holes still visible, blackened pin marks long closed over. "That's why it looks so bad. The wire pulled it together unevenly-- too tight in some places and too loose in others. I did the best I could," he added, mildly defensive and wondering where the hell that feeling came from.

Adam nodded, softly, as if agreeing to Nigel's assessment. "You were alone."

"I was alone," he agreed. "I was separated from the rest of my brigade, left behind, and holed up in an abandoned farmhouse. By the time I was well enough to move, Wallachia had won her freedom." He had no idea why he was telling Adam this. He looked down, feeling exposed and awkward, and saw Decima gazing up at him with huge brown eyes. She lifted her arms and he cracked a smile, leaned down and hefted her up onto a hip. She hugged him, her arms only reaching halfway around.

"You're not alone, Uncle Nigel," she asserted. He kissed the top of her head and gave her a light squeeze, and she relaxed against him.

"I know that, poppet. How could I be, when you are here?" 

"And Uncle Adam!" She waved her little fist, in which was still captured a long filament of turnip peel. Nigel raised an eyebrow.

"Have we already graduated to uncle, then?"

Adam glanced away, a blush coloring his cheeks, but when he looked back at Nigel his expression was less guarded, and he was smiling shyly. "Apparently I peel vegetables longer than anyone she's ever encountered."

"Is that all it would have taken?" Nigel grinned down at the little girl. "And here I had to buy your affection with marzipan and hair ribbons."

"Did you bring me marzipan?" she chirped, hopeful eyes large. Nigel laughed, and Adam laughed with him, and the atmosphere in the room was lighter than it had been. Encouraged, Nigel shifted Decima off his hip and handed her over to Adam, and when he took her, his eyes met Nigel's, for a moment.

"Green," Nigel uttered without thinking, in the moment their color flashed clear in the warm sunlight. Adam looked away immediately, and Nigel resisted reaching out to tip his chin back into the light. But Adam didn't look upset, and after a moment he looked back, and Nigel took the opportunity to study him openly. His eyes, Nigel decided, were the color of moss agate rather than emeralds-- not showy but subdued, much like the boy himself. Combined with his pale olive skin and thick dark brown curls, he was a rare and subtle beauty. Rather than foolishly voicing any of that, Nigel tilted his head, contemplating his next move. After a moment, he nodded decisively. "First, I need a wash. Then we will sit and discuss our options, if that is acceptable to you, Adam."

A beat, and Adam's eyes settled on Nigel's bare collarbone. He nodded, and Decima carefully placed the peel in Adam's hair.

***

The bath was heaven. Christ in God's house Heaven. Bors and Vanora were not small people, so the tub they had was enormous, in a shed next to the house, the floor and walls made of broad boards raised up off the ground so that water could just empty out from the bottom of the tub and flow back into the ground. It took Nigel nearly an hour to fill it all the way to the brim with hot water, and by the time he sank down under the surface his already weary muscles were trembling with the effort. Nigel sighed, groaning out his exhaustion and his frustration, and rubbed hot water over his scalp, rinsing out the grit of long days of travel. He tugged at his braid, and then realized that he should have undone it before he got it wet, because now it was just going to be a great big snarl of fucking impossible to deal with. He sat up with another groan and tugged it over his shoulder, only to jump halfway out of the tub, knife already in hand, when it was tugged back. He swung his blade around to be met with a petrified Adam, who was still holding on to his braid. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Nigel sagged, setting the blade back on the other side of the tub. "Please don't fucking sneak up on me, Adam."

"I realize now that not announcing myself at the door was very foolish, Nigel. I apologise." He paused. "Thank you for not stabbing me." 

Nigel sighed, already tense again. "That was more luck than skill on my part, Adam." He turned his head. "Why did you take hold of my braid?"

"Oh!" Adam settled down on the floor, near-death experience set aside. "I came in to see how you were doing, and to ask if you could keep the water for me when you are finished, because I would really like a bath as well. I saw that you were having trouble untying your braid and I wanted to help." He kept his hands in his lap, though.

Nigel squinted at him. "I was under the impression that you didn't like me."

Adam's face fell, and he rubbed at his ankle. "I know this isn't your fault, Nigel. You are doing what Harlan asked you to do. You don't know me, and I realize I am strange, and most people don't like me because I talk about things they don't understand. And I'm not good with people, so I don't know when to stop talking. Do you want help with your braid?"

Nigel studied him for a long moment, as he allowed the heat of the water to ease him. Lovely Adam, who was strange but not in a bad way, Nigel thought. Not at all. He nodded his consent, and felt gentle hands tug lightly at his braid to get it to hang over the side of the tub. Nigel just watched as Adam untied the leather cord at the bottom and slowly began to ease the braid apart. He didn't tear or yank out tangles, but took the time to gently work them out. As his fingers worked, he began speaking about his home. He told Nigel about his brother Charlie and his hapless father, about the summons to court and how much Adam didn't want to go. 

"Tell me why were you summoned to court, again?" Nigel asked sleepily, comfortable and warm and soothed by Adam's fingers now stroking soap into his hair, scratching into his scalp in a way that made Nigel's toes curl. He hadn't had someone do this for him in ages, and it was marvelous. 

Adam hummed, working soap all the way through the thick hair and pushing Nigel gently away from the tub wall so he could reach his back. He rubbed a soapy cloth against Nigel's skin, and Nigel purred in approval before he could think not to. "My father bought a weapon from a market… actually, it was Harlan who bought it, knowing my father would like it. But it wouldn't work, and my father was so upset that I wanted to fix it for him. So I did, and my father told the king, and the king wanted to see it."

Nigel was blissed out. He leaned back and let Adam rest his head on a hand, tipping his head back and pouring water from a cup to rinse out his hair. He sighed with pleasure. "Must have been a strange sort of weapon, for the king to want to see it. An arbalest, perhaps?"

"A fire lance."

Fire lance. "I've heard of such things." He stretched like a great cat, eyes closed. "Sorcery."

Adam's hands stilled, and then gently wrung Nigel's hair out across the boards. "Not sorcery. Alchemy. The black powder… had we not left it behind, I could show you how it works." His hands scratched through the clean hair now, parting the strands to braid it again. He did so deftly, and tied it again at the end. 

"Does it turn lead into gold?" Nigel hummed, lazily contented. He heard Adam stand, his knees cracking lightly.

"No. That's a myth. The black powder destroys whatever it's near when you set it on fire. I hope you'll let me in the bath before the water's all gone cold." With that, he left the shed, closing the door behind him. Nigel luxuriated in the water for a moment, rubbing the soap and cloth across his skin. Only after a moment did what Adam told him sink in.

"Adam!" he shouted, rising up out of the bath. He tugged a thick towel over his chest and arms, covering his hips when Adam opened the door to look in.

"Are you done?"

"That powder can destroy anything?"

Adam nodded impatiently, and lifted a hand to his hair, squeezing a handful of curls in a picture of childish frustration. "I realize that it was a mistake to tell you anything, but you make me feel safe, and I'm less careful about what I say when I feel safe." He looked upset with himself, his brow wrinkled. Nigel held up a hand, tugging the towel closed with the other. The thought that he made Adam feel safe pleased him, deep down, and he was feeling generous enough to wait.

"Take a bath, Adam. We'll talk after," he promised. Adam only sighed, looking miserable. Nigel frowned, searching for something to say. What he came up with was, "Would you like me to wash your hair?" Not his best idea, he thought, too late. But Adam smiled, very slightly, and nodded shyly, and Nigel couldn't very well take it back after that. 

Adam undressed on the spot, and Nigel excused himself to fill another bucket and set it on the stovetop in the kitchen to heat. He dug through his pack for a mostly clean pair of trousers and then set them aside, realizing he was just going to get them wet if he put them on now. He went back out into the shed with the hot water, still with the towel wrapped around his hips, and Adam was already in the bath, his eyes closed peacefully. Nigel tipped the hot water gently in to the foot of the bath, and then tugged a short stool close to Adam's head. He was too old to kneel, he told himself, and he… he just didn't. He sat instead, refusing to think that he wasn't one to wash hair either, no matter how pretty the person. He poured a cup of a water over Adam's head, brushing it out of his eyes, and tugged his fingers gently through those thick, dark curls, and hoped no one else would come through the door, because he would never live this down.

***

Dinner was an oddly tense affair. Bors and Vanora, tired from the day's labor on their little farm, had gratefully allowed Adam to do the cooking, so they ate mashed and salted turnips, toasted bread with butter, and thick sausages from the local butcher. It was simple and delicious, and their ten children demolished the table and then trooped out, the younger to play and the elder to take advantage of the still-warm bath. Adam was moodily silent, no doubt in irritation with himself, and not even Decima could get him to talk, so she was also sulky. Nigel held a desultory conversation about the year's crops so far-- it was now late summer, and had been a good season for potatoes and turnips both. Vanora simply watched, her expression calm and inscrutable.

Once the children were shuffled out of the kitchen, Adam scowled and slumped in his chair. Vanora set a cup of warm wine in front of him, and settled across the table. "Care to tell us now what is going on?"

Nigel raised an eyebrow at Adam, who sighed a very put-upon sigh, and then placed his hands on the table. Bors listened from the fireplace, wine in a big stoneware mug the size of Nigel's head. "I discovered a mix of powders that, when you set it alight, destroys what is next to it. Well, not discovered as much as re-discovered." Everyone around the table was wide-eyed at this announcement. Nigel nodded, for once feeling like he was ahead of the game. He'd had more time to process than the others.

"From the fire lance."

Adam nodded, his sullenness waning as he warmed up to his topic. "It’s a mix of three different ingredients-- brimstone, charcoal, and saltpeter. If you mix it right, and it doesn't explode beforehand, it can be packed into kegs or paper tubes, and a long string run from it. When you light it, and the fire reaches the powder, it makes a very loud noise and shatters wood and stone. And flesh. But that's not really what I use it for-- I found that out by accident, when I blew a hole in the attic wall." He held up his hands, and Nigel could see even in candlelight that his hands were white with scar tissue over the palms. He resisted the urge to stroke his fingers across the smooth skin. Adam sighed again, and continued in the silence. "When it's packed into a narrow metal tube, and projectiles put on top of it, lighting it will force the projectiles out of the tube in more or less a straight line, at great force. If the tube itself doesn't explode and kill the bearer," he added, caveat-like. 

Vanora frowned. "It sounds unpredictable."

Adam's eyes lit up at her, and he smiled and nodded. "It is! Which is part of the reason I didn't want to have to show the king, because it could go all wrong. Plus, I don't like people." He paused, and then must have realized how that sounded, because he added, "But you are all very nice."

Bors grunted, drinking, his eyes avid where Nigel could see him. "It sounds like sorcery."

Adam shook his head, even at he glanced at Nigel, who was gazing wryly at him. "It's not. It's alchemy."

"What is saltpeter?" This from Nigel, who already trying to work out the practicality of making more of the black powder. Adam gazed at him blankly, and then blinked. Nigel thought that perhaps he was coming to a decision. Nigel hoped it would be in their favor.

"It's the white powder that can be scraped off old animal dung. It's difficult to produce, but I knew a woman who could get a reliable supply from caves with bats in them. Unfortunately it's also the ingredient you need the most of, so it's hard to produce enough to make a batch that will be effective."

Nigel nodded, his thoughts turning. "I know brimstone-- it was used in battles between ships to produce Greek fire that could float on water. It was very dramatic but not very efficient, since launching flaming water often ends up badly for anyone near. I even know what it looks like-- it's yellow, and smells like eggs you wouldn't want to eat."

Bors nodded thoughtfully. "I've seen it in my travels. In fact, I have a friend who owns an inn with baths filled with water from beneath, and they have yellow dirt all around the place. Smells like bad eggs."

Adam held up a hand, and Nigel saw it was trembling, very slightly. "This is all very interesting but I can't make it. I would need… things… that I don't have. And what about Charlie?" He turned to Nigel, anger flaring abruptly in his eyes. "I _knew_ this would happen if I told you about it-- I'm so stupid! My brother is a prisoner of the king! And now that I'm not there to shop him how to use the powder, he is likely going to blow up half the court!" He stood, his jaw clenched and shaking. "None of this matters now. Harlan may have protected me but he's killed my brother, and the court alchemists will figure out how to make the powder if they don't all die from it, and _nothing is ever going to be alright!_ His voice broke at the last, and he turned and walked stiffly out the front door. Nigel chewed his lip, feeling mildly guilty, although the situation was not of his making.

"Well," Vanora began, and then paused. She looked at them both, and Bors' eyes grew very wide. "You know what you have to do then."

Nigel narrowed his eyes at her, but he knew what she was going to say, so he preempted her with a hand. "His brother is in Lincoln Castle. Shall we storm it with our knives and perhaps a few stones?" Bors snorted, but didn't add anything. Lincoln Castle was a fortress. Impenetrable. He hadn't signed on for this. They sank into silence, but it was Vanora who spoke at last.

"If he can make the black powder, you will have the advantage. And he can-- he just doesn't think he can."

"He doesn't have what he needs," Bors pointed out. 

Vanora nodded. "You know how to get brimstone, and charcoal is a shovel from our fire." She smiled a very small smile. "We have ten children, Bors. We can scrape shit from every stable in the county, if it's what needs to be done."

Nigel looked up at her, a slow grin on his lips. "Remind me never to make an enemy of you, Vanora."

She grinned back at him, her eyes light. "I should think that would go without saying, Nigel."


	5. Moon

Adam felt the extraordinary impression of being lost; unmoored from a steady anchor that had served him all his life. Like Polaris had suddenly gone missing, and with it the sensation that there was a North at all. Or any direction, for that matter. He felt that he could mount Blackfeather and choose any bearing, absolutely any at all, and he would never reach a friendly shore. He would die in this wasteland of unfamiliar people with their opaque faces and obscured motives, perhaps passed across them as if he were the boat and they the sea, and they would carry him long after he was dead, a shriveled husk from which his most valuable secret could not be extracted. 

He found that his feet had carried him to the barn, and he unlatched the door and went inside. Warm, horsey smells greeted him, and his heart leapt a little at the thought that he did have one friend, at least, even if she wasn't much for conversation. He made his way over to her stall, and Nigel's large bay gelding shoved his head over the crossbars and whickered at him. Adam paused to admire him. The gelding's lovely coloring was marred with pink and white scars, much like Nigel himself. Both had been through war and had come out the other side different. How simple Adam must seem to them; terrified of being away from home, in tears, even, for the loss of all that was familiar to him. He patted the bay on the nose, and the horse twisted his head to shove Adam's hand upward in order to check him for sweets. Adam grinned softly at him.

"You don't think I would spoil you first before my best friend, do you?" The bay shook his heavy head, black mane flopping over both sides of his neck in uneven chunks. Blackfeather took the opportunity to nudge at Adam's head, lipping at his hair. He set his free hand on her silken nose, and for a moment felt like a bridge between two great beasts, powerful and delicate, and he found that he could breathe out without trembling. 

"His name is Groază," came a voice behind him, and Adam jumped, startling the horses, who snapped their heads back. Adam shot Nigel a look of pure frustration, and Nigel paused uncertainly in the door. He was carrying an apple in each hand. Adam looked down in an attempt to compose himself. "Does it mean anything?"

Nigel took a step towards them, overly slowly, until Groază made a keen noise and stamped a heavily-shod hoof. He held an apple out to Adam, who took it, and then Nigel turned and fed his to Blackfeather. Adam stared at him a moment, and then got thumped in the ear by an impatient warhorse. He lifted the apple up to the gelding's mouth, and the horse lipped the entire thing in one go and turned away to eat it. After a moment, Nigel said, "In English, he name means 'ripper.'"

"Ripper," Adam repeated, doubtfully.

"He is a warhorse. He needed a name that would strike fear into the hearts of his enemies."

"Do you yell his name at your enemies in order to frighten them into dropping their weapons?"

Nigel laughed; a genuine, warm laugh that eased Adam's distress. He shook his head. "No but perhaps I will try that next time I encounter enemies that require subduing."

Adam lifted his chin so that he could glance over Nigel's face. In the lantern light of the cozy barn, Nigel's skin was golden, with the tracery of filament scars over his face and his hands like fine lace. His hair fell a warm russet silver over his ears and down his back, still in a damp braid from their afternoon bathing. His eyes were dark, his mouth a delicate bow, corners upturned in a smile. His nose was curved, likely broken and not set correctly. Adam admired the deep laugh-lines around his eyes, the thick curly beard with its silver stripes that framed his mouth. Adam remembered the powerful, golden body in the bath, like a great lion stretched out in the water, and he blushed, dropping his gaze to the floor of the stable. His words abandoned him. 

A small sigh beside him, and Nigel reached across him. Adam thought for a moment Nigel was going to put a hand on him, and he froze, not certain if he wanted it or not. Memories of Nigel's hands on his hair in the bath flooded back to him, and he remembered that it felt good, those strong calloused fingers in his hair. His nursemaids had washed his hair before, but it hadn't felt like _that_. Normally Adam didn't invite touch because it felt so demanding, so invasive. Now he wavered. But Nigel didn't touch him at all, instead reaching for Blackfeather's saddle. He tugged at the roll of leather that held the telescope, and gave Adam a questioning look. "May I?"

If Adam wasn't certain how he felt about Nigel touching him, he was absolutely positive that Nigel would not be touching his scope. He reached a hand to tug Nigel's away, and then untangled the knots of the leather straps. "Please don't touch it." Nigel backed up a bit with a grunt, and Adam shook his head. "I don't let anyone touch my things. I mean no offense to you in particular."

"But to everyone in general," Nigel scoffed gruffly.

Adam turned his head, his hands both on the scope as he ease it from its moorings. "If I would break it, I would be devastated. If you would break it, I would send you to Samarkand for a new one."

"Point taken. That's not a trip I would undertake lightly."

"Have you been?" Adam was curious. Nigel was clearly well-traveled, and part of Adam wanted to sit at his feet and be told stories until the fire died into coals. That thought was more of a pull that he thought it would be.

"I've traveled on the Silk Road, but it's not the safest place for a lone traveler," Nigel replied.

Adam nodded. "Harlan always traveled with caravans. He told me that he might take me himself, one of these days, but I've never been much for traveling." Understatement. Nigel didn't tease him for it, though, for which Adam was grateful. He finally freed the scope and pulled the shining brass tube out into the light. Nigel stepped closer, until Adam could feel the heat of his body against his arm through the thin linen of his undershirt. The nearness didn't immediately make him want to bolt, so he swallowed his nervousness.

"What is this, that comes from Samarkand and cannot be touched, then?"

Adam stroked his fingers down the cool metal, and then nodded to himself. "Let me show you."

***

Nigel followed Adam out beyond the farmhouse and the barn, to a hillside deep in shadow beyond the faint lights of the lanterns. He felt like he was going to an assignation, some secret lover's tryst, as he watched the shape of Adam's body fade into the darkness until he was following by sound more than by sight. Adam stopped in a place where no other light reached them, and as Nigel's eyes began to adjust, he saw the sky open up above him, peppered with stars. Vague shapes of farmhouses and trees were black against the deep gray of the sky. The moon was just barely peeking above the horizon line. Adam sat down in the grass, and began twisting the scope in his hands. The brass gleamed in the starlight and the hint of the moon. He reached and gestured for Nigel to sit beside him, and Nigel folded his legs under him and sat. 

"The scope has glass lenses in it that focus the light and bring things closer." Adam explained shortly, and then leaned back into the glass, his slender body laid out in front of Nigel. Nigel huffed a breath through his nose, and dug for his pipe and tobacco. First the bath, when he had barely resisted running his hands over the vulnerable nape of Adam's neck, and below. Now Adam sprawled unprotected before him. The boy had no mercy in him, and clearly no fucking idea what he did to Nigel. Frustrated, he scraped his flint and steel to spark the dry tobacco and slowly nursed it to life, as Adam set the scope to his eye and moved it over the expanse of sky, his hands making minute adjustments by twisting the different sections of the tube. They sat in companionable silence for a little while, as the moon rose slowly over the English countryside.

Finally, Adam turned to him. "Do you want to see the man on the moon, Nigel?"

"There's a man on the moon? How did he get there?" 

Adam rolled his head to look up at Nigel, smiling, his brow wrinkled. "I don't actually think there is a man on the moon, Nigel."

Nigel grinned at him. "Then why did you say so?"

That gave Adam pause, and he looked thoughtfully up at the moon, his scope sinking to his chest. "It's something Harlan showed me. There are shapes on the moon that look like the shadow of a man." 

"Let me see then, and perhaps I will decide for myself whether there is a man there or not." His voice was a bit gruff, and he cleared his throat, setting aside his pipe. Rather than hand the scope to him, Adam shuffled aside and patted his hand, and Nigel laid down on the ground beside him. He took the scope carefully from Adam's hands, recognising that Adam was showing him a large amount of trust, and lifted it up to peer through the eyepiece. There was nothing there but a black circle. "Where is the moon?" He moved the scope but saw nothing but darkness. Adam grunted beside him, and then his cool, long-fingered hands were over Nigel's, moving the scope across the sky. 

"Do you see it now?"

Nigel shook his head and looked away from the scope to Adam, who was hovering over him. Adam scooted closer, and then his thigh bumped the top of Nigel's head. A gentle hand tucked under the back of his head and lifted until Nigel's head was propped up on Adam's warm thigh. Oh, this was much better than the hard ground. Adam lifted the scope to his own eye to sight through it, and then handed it gingerly back to Nigel, who peered through it a third time. Nothing. A slight glow at the edge. And then suddenly, the moon flared into focus, a bright plain filled with round rings and rivulets of bright and dark. "Oh!" Nigel exclaimed, surprised and enchanted. "It's so close I could take it in my hand for you."

Adam was smiling down at him, close. Very close. Nigel let the scope sink back to his chest and gazed at Adam instead-- so full of life now that he was speaking of something he loved. Nigel reached his hand back to settle it lightly in Adam's knee, soft enough so that he did not startle. "You’re a wonder, Adam. You would be wasted on the royal court. They would never appreciate how beautiful y.. this is." 

Adam huffed a disbelieving laugh. "I'm not beautiful, Nigel. I'm strange: a curiosity at best." He tugged the brass scope carefully out of Nigel's hands, and began wrapping back up. Nigel was content to keep his head pillowed on Adam's thigh. He regretted what he had to say next, because he was enjoying this so much. But. 

"We have a plan to rescue your brother."

Adam paused, his smile falling away, and then continued steadily tying up his bundle. "A plan," he repeated, his voice gone flat again.

"It's a stupid plan, and it probably won't work, which means we could all get ourselves fucking killed, but it's the best we could come up with, so I think you should hear me out, at least." Nigel squeezed Adam's knee, and he stilled, his eyes turned back to the stars. Whether this was permission or not, Nigel pressed on. "We'll need more of that black powder."

"I told you I can't--"

"Just." Nigel sat up, regretfully, and turned his body into Adam's. Adam cringed a little before him, and Nigel found himself backing off. Again. "Just hear me out." Adam's mouth tightened into a scowl, but he gave a short nod. "We will gather the components. Bors figures we have nearly a month before your brother will be… moved elsewhere. Possibly. And in that time, I can gather some assistance. But we will need a distraction, and your black powder will be enough of one that we might make it out the other side without too many fucking holes in us."

Adam was silent for a long while. Nigel wanted to tuck his head back down on Adam's lap, but he figured that moment had passed, so he just sat and allowed himself to admire the shadows outlining Adam's handsome features. Finally, Adam looked at him, directly, right in his eyes. "That's a terrible plan, Nigel."

Nigel felt a mild sting of rejection beneath his ribs. He scowled. "Can you do better?"

Slowly, Adam nodded. "Yes. But I'll need a map of the grounds of the castle, ideally a map of the castle as well. And at least two days where we can watch the comings and goings of the keep." He tapped a finger thoughtfully against the knuckles of his other hand. "And we would need to know where my brother is being held."

Nigel stared at him for a moment, and then grunted, flopping back down on the ground. "Shall I just get you the fucking moon instead?"

Adam looked him over coolly. "No, Nigel. That would be physically impossible."

Nigel covered his eyes with his forearm and nearly suppressed a groan. "Well, I'm glad you draw the line fucking somewhere."


	6. Travel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to do something nice for you all, so here are three chapters at once! You'll see why :) Happy Valentines Day and more importantly, Happy Spacedogs week!

They slept in the same positions as they had before-- Adam on the bed and Nigel wrapped in a blanket on the floor. Bors had peeked in on them before lights out, catching Nigel's eye, and his face had lit up with a grin that managed to be both scandalized and smug. Nigel knew that look by heart-- it was his bet-winning smirk, the absolute bastard. Then it had been Vanora rooting for him after all, while Bors must have thought there was no way in hell Nigel would be able to bed someone so… _perfect, so beautiful, so exquisite_ , his frustrated brain supplied handily. Nigel had turned himself over with a little too much huffy drama, and Bors had chuckled at him from the door. What an absolute churl's prick. 

After a second night on the floor, Nigel woke rested but aching in his shoulders and hip. He stretched and groaned, yawning wide. A tiny sound startled him, and his eyes snapped open to see Adam watching him from the bed. His curly hair was adorably sticking up in some places and smashed down in others, and he lifted a hand to scratch through it, mussing it impossibly more. Nigel relaxed back against the thick rug, pleased to see the little Viscount still in bed, even if Nigel wasn't in there with him. He rubbed a hand over his face. "Good morning, Adam."

Adam hummed peaceably, seeming a dozen times more relaxed than he had been the night before. Possibly having a plan, however shitty, was a balm to his anxiety. He rolled over on his belly, gazing down at Nigel with soft eyes. "How come you never call me 'Lord'?"

Nigel squinted at him, an inconsiderate laugh held down tight behind his ribs. He grinned instead, and offered a lazy shrug. "No man is lord to me but one, and he abandoned me to die. I don't have a history of bending my knee," he explained.

Adam shook his head and looked away, over to the other wall in cool morning shadow. "I don't want you to. I'm not asking you to."

"That's good, Adam, because I would hate to tell you no." Nigel considered that, turning the unfamiliar reluctance over in his mind, and then figured that he didn't want to examine his feelings too deeply.

"I like how you say my name. Like we're equals."

Nigel pondered that for a moment. How Adam was treated with confusion and curiosity by his own father. How likely the only person who had ever considered him an equal was his own brother. And how that brother was now caught in a cage for which Adam blamed himself. He rolled over on his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows to stretch his back. It popped deep down by his hips, and he groaned softly at the sharp release. "How much do you know about the Merries?"

Adam relaxed back into the bed with a sigh. "Harlan's told me stories. About how no one has titles and everyone has jobs. It sounds… nice. Someplace to belong where no one expects anything of you than what you are good at."

Nigel snorted gently. "It's not always like that. Harlan left because he couldn't do the job Robin needed done."

"But he's a Watcher. Information-trader."

"Harlan has always loved to travel. If it weren't for you, that's all he would do." Nigel wondered how much Adam knew about Harlan's love for his mother. Nigel didn't know that kind of love; had mocked it openly more than once. He tended to do that to things he didn't understand. No point in dwelling on it. He lifted himself up from the floor and stretched hugely, scratching his belly lazily as he cast about for his trousers. "Come, lazy thing. On the road today by midmorning, and we might only have to spend one night on the road." 

"M'not lazy, Nigel. It's cold." Adam rolled over and tugged the covers over his body, and Nigel heard a muffled giggle from underneath the quilted comforter. He just barely restrained himself from climbing on top of the bed and play-wrestling the boy into submission. It was far too much of a temptation to act upon. He satisfied himself by swatting at Adam's rounded backside with his shirt, and eliciting a squeak that made him laugh.

***

After a rushed breakfast and several hugs from various children than left Adam bright pink with happiness, they saddled up their well-rested horses and turned their noses toward Bakewell, away to the south and west, the home of the Yellow Cockerel and their regionally famous hot baths. Vanora had decided that they would gather as much manure as they possibly could in their wagon, using canvas to keep it in layers they could then brush for the white powder. It wasn't too far from time to bolster their crops, so it wasn't even going to take much time from the farm, which pleased Bors especially. Nigel estimated they would be back in a week to pick up the saltpeter and charcoal, and then they would decide what to do. Adam had had enough of endangering people that he was fond of, and he had begun insisting over breakfast that they find somewhere else to do the actual grinding of the black powder, to keep the children out of harm's way. Nigel agreed to consider it, which was enough to placate Adam for the time being.

They traveled in easy silence for most of the morning. In fact, Adam rode most of the way with his nose in a book, rocking gracefully to his mount's gentle paces. Groază definitely did not have a trot steady enough to read by, so Nigel contented himself with watching Adam in between moments that he was watching the road. The boy-- the man-- he reminded himself, no longer felt like a mark in Nigel's mind, and how very dangerous was that?

They passed on the far side of Adwick not long after noon, having been close enough to hear the church bells ring the Sext. The bells stirred Adam to dig through the basket for their lunch, and they ate together without pausing, both Blackfeather and Groază content for several more miles of good road. The horses traveled well together, Groază slightly front and to the left, and he would occasionally glance back at Blackfeather to ensure she was beside him. Although the gelding's stride was longer, she kept pace effortlessly, and Nigel found himself wondering if Adam might let him ride her. He thought he might even allow Adam up on Groază, and if that wasn't a thought he had never had about anyone else…

Adam spoke into the silence. "Have you ever had a wife or husband, Nigel?"

Nigel tamped down his surprise at the question. He didn't know why Adam would ask, other than conversation to break the long quiet, although he hoped perhaps that Adam was asking because he was interested in the answer. He shook his head, glancing over at the young lord, a book settled easily between his knees. "I thought I loved a woman once, but it ended…" _bloody_ "… not well. We both wanted control over the relationship, and neither of us would give an inch to the other."

"She sounds fierce." Adam's voice was soft, wondering. Nigel laughed, charmed despite all his intentions.

He shook his head, then sobered. "I'm a violent man, Adam. I have lived a violent life, always in one war or another. I found that I am not well suited for… relationships."

"Do we not have a relationship, a friendship, Nigel?" Adam looked away, and then down, his cheeks slightly flushed. "I am usually mistaken about things like this." He waved an aimless hand. "I'm not good with people," he repeated again, and Nigel recongnised it for the mantra it was, perhaps something Adam had been told rather than sussing out for himself.

Nigel was moving almost before he could think, reaching over across the space between their horses and placing a comforting hand on Adam's knee, warm from the sun. He was grateful when Adam didn't flinch from him. "So you've said, but I find all sorts of evidence to the contrary." Adam contemplated his hand for a moment, and then, for a wonder, smiled a beautiful smile, open and welcoming.

"I would like to be your friend, Nigel."

Nigel rolled the word 'friend' around in his mind, and he found that it wasn't distasteful. He thought perhaps he might do quite a lot to see Adam smile like that again, and that was troubling, but not enough to stop his answering smile. "I would like that, Adam." 

They made Conisbrough well before the Vespers bells. There were no large towns between here and Sheffield, but tomorrow would be a shorter day, hopefully landing them at the Yellow Cockerel before sundown, so Nigel planned to leave right at dawn. He was looking forward to resting in a bed tonight, though, and the bliss of drinking too much ale called him like a sweet siren. They ended up at an inn called the Red Lion, which Nigel had stopped at once or twice. It was a fair place with edible food and clean, comfortable beds. He managed to secure a room with two beds from the gruff innkeeper, and led Adam up the stairs. No bath tonight to distract Nigel from drinking. He tossed their saddlebags and Adam's carefully wrapped scope into a corner behind the door and turned to go back out. Adam held out a hand.

"Where are you going, Nigel?"

"To lighten my purse, Adam," he grunted. "If you're hungry, ask the innkeeper for food… or come and find me." That was actually the total opposite of what he wanted, which was to be alone with his treacherous thoughts about _friendship_ and sulk a bit and then get really drunk. Getting drunk sounded absolutely fucking perfect.

***

He was well into his …fifth? sixth? pint when Adam found him at the table. The young man, wide-eyed, sat tentatively down in a nearby chair, rubbing his hands over his trouser legs nervously. Nigel was alone. He had not wanted to be-- had wanted, in fact, to find some sweet company to take him out of his head for a few moments. But inexplicably, he had turned away at the prospects who eyed him from across the room. One was too blonde, and the other had teeth that weren't perfectly straight. It had been a long couple of days, sleeping on floors and looking after this enigmatic young man who could make windows shatter with a puff of black dust and fire, if he were even to be believed. Ridiculous nonsense. Nigel could make a window shatter with a well-placed fist, and no king had ever given out a summons for _that_. Well. Fuck it. He finished his most recent ale and turned to gaze on his charge. His _friend_. 

"Nigel?" Adam's voice was tentative, as if he was not certain that he should be interrupting. "Are you coming to bed soon?"

Nigel grinned at him, all teeth, his eyes half closed in the dim light of the common room. "Do you want me to, darling?"

Adam's eyebrows both shot up simultaneously. "I would like you to, yes. It's dark, and I know you wanted to have an early start in the morning… and I thought that you might want to stop drinking now so that you don't feel sick in the morning." Adam rubbed the back of his neck, telegraphing nervousness. Nigel leaned closer to him, taking in the fullness of his mouth. This one was not too blond. This one had perfectly straight teeth. He reached out and squeezed Adam's knee, a little higher than strictly friendly. Adam startled and jerked away, pushing at Nigel's hand. "I don't think you should touch me when you have had so much to drink," he said with a cautious sternness, as if he was worried Nigel might react badly. Nigel dropped his hand, realizing all at once that he was compromised, and that he was a little too far beyond sober and horny to be interacting with the one person who had admitted he wanted to be friends. Nigel waved both hands palm up in surrender. 

"Yes, Lord. I'm coming to bed. Not with you. To bed." 

A dark crease marred Adam's forehead, and he frowned. He turned his back to Nigel and started back up the stairs. Nigel sighed, irritated at himself, and got up to follow. It only took him two tries to get out of his chair.

The stairs were treacherous to navigate, and Nigel could have used someone to lean on, but he had handily bolloxed that up, so he managed on his own, until he tripped on a riser and found himself swaying dangerously backwards. A sharp tug on his shirt front brought him back into balance, and he gazed up at an unhappy-looking Adam. He smiled despite himself. "Your face is unhappy," he pointed out. 

"It is truly a gift to be able to read people as well as you do, Nigel," snapped Adam, as he unhanded Nigel's shirt and stalked the rest of the way up the stairs. Adam walked down the hall to their room and unlocked the door with the heavy metal key the innkeeper had given them. Nigel followed him inside, tugging off his shirt as Adam closed and locked the door. Adam tugged off his boots and shrugged out of his doublet, leaving on his hose as he crawled into the bed closest to the window. Nigel peered plaintively across the room at him, but Adam turned his back and tugged the coverlet over his shoulder. Well. That was definitive. Nigel blearily stumbled out of his boots, and collapsed onto the bed, not even bothering to untuck the covers.


	7. Yellow Cockerel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly my favorite cameo. Please don't be shy-- leave a comment if there is something you like!

Nigel regarded the plaster ceiling with incredible loathing. His stomach roiled unpleasantly as his gaze moved to the other bed, where Adam was still sleeping. He, at least, looked peaceful and untroubled, lips slightly parted, hair mad. One hand was flung over the side of the bed as he lay on his side. Soft blue light filtered in through leaded glass windows, gentling everything but Nigel's throbbing headache. He squeezed shut his eyes and voiced a pathetic moan, but the gods did not come and strike him down to put him out of his misery, so he levered himself out of bed instead.

There was a time in his life when six ales would not have put him on his ass like this. The fact that it had worried him immensely, especially since he had lately been feeling… _soft._ The man who had stitched himself together with wire would have scoffed at him now, as he was, mooning after a boy who was entirely too good for him, and entirely unsuited for the life that Nigel led. Nigel imagined Adam being forced to sit around a fire and socialize, or ride long roads in search of people to kill instead of tinkering with his alchemy. He imagined those green eyes sharp on the lookout for assassins instead of soaking up the knowledge of a book while balanced in the saddle. Or worse, Adam cut open in a skirmish, blood running down his flanks into the dust of the road. Those eyes tilted up at him, accusing. 

Nigel shook his head, immediately regretting it, but at least it stopped his really fucking unproductive thoughts. Nigel was who he was, and he would continue to be exactly that same fucking person until someone shoved a knife through the right pair of ribs and he stopped being entirely. Buggering fuck, what a fucking morning. He lurched over to the pitcher and basin and managed to get at least some water in the bowl, which he splashed on his face. In his bag he removed his willow stick and mint paste and scrubbed his teeth clean of the foulness of the night before. Breakfast. Road. Tonight he would drink more, if afforded the opportunity. He would do this thing for Adam, and then he would go back to his own life, and be fucking content if it fucking killed him.

He made sure the door made enough noise to wake Adam as he was on his way out. 

***

Their travel that day was uneventful, except that it was raining and miserable. At least it allowed Nigel to cover Adam and himself up in their oiled traveling cloaks and hats, the low, dripping brims doing wonders to make them perfectly anonymous. Nigel wasn't anticipating that they would be discovered on the road, but it would be foolish to flaunt themselves overmuch, especially with their fine horses. Well, Adam's fine horse, at least. Groază wasn't what anyone would call a 'looker,' not with his battle scars. Much like Nigel himself, he mused. He occupied himself with glancing up and down the road. Adam was unusually silent, but Nigel didn't attempt to engage him in conversation. He wouldn't know what to say, anyway.

Well before dusk, or what they could see of it in the grey weather, they reached the Yellow Cockerel. They would be safe enough here-- he knew the innkeeper as well as Bors and she ran a very tight ship. Her name was Phyllis, and she was friendly with Robin but not on her payroll, by virtue of having won the rights to autonomy in a horse race that to this day was one of Nigel's most treasured memories. They walked up into the courtyard of the inn and Nigel hopped down off the saddle, his knee twinging a little when he hit the ground. He rubbed at the old injury as he circled around to take hold of Blackfeather's bridle and hand Adam down. Adam came off much more gracefully, even in the heavy, waterlogged cape, and Nigel unnecessarily adjusted his hat just to keep him close for a moment more. Adam allowed it with his eyes a soft question, and Nigel realized that he was fooling absolutely no one. His hands dropped away, and he turned heavily, feeling very much like kicking something.

"Brother Nigel!" came a cheerful shout from the door. "You're in time for dinner." Phyllis stepped easily down from the threshold, graceful like a dancer and just as strong. Her dark, discerning eyes went immediately to Adam, and she raised an eyebrow, curious with a hint of admiration. "And this is?"

Nigel found he had to clear his throat. "Phyllis, Adam. Adam, this is my friend, Phyllis. She owns this fine establishment."

Adam took her hand and bowed over it. "Lady, it's good to meet any friend of Nigel's."

Phyllis gave Nigel a wide open look. "Indeed! Nigel hasn't many friends, but he has exceptional taste in them. As you seem to prove," she added with a meaningful look at Nigel. She took in their soaking clothes with a practiced eye. "Change first, or perhaps a bath? I can have these clean and dried by morning."

Nigel nodded his thanks. "Change first, and then food. A bath later sounds fucking marvelous. And we have a favor to ask."

She pressed her lips together, turning to look at her compound. "Yes, to all of it but the last," she grinned. "And perhaps that, if you entertain me enough."

Nigel gave her a playful leer. "Don't I always? Is the cellar room with the private bath available?"

"Of course, for you." She paused, her eyes mischievous. "It's only got the one bed? Or I can put you in two rooms-- I have one upstairs as well?"

A plague on everything, he thought, to feel exposed like this. "I…"

"I would prefer to be in the same room," Adam answered, a bit breathless. 

Nigel turned to him, taken by surprise. "I…" But he could find nothing to say without exposing the warmth that blossomed in his belly. 

"I would feel better if you were… if we were not separated. In case someone came upon us," Adam explained to him, their eyes meeting for only a moment, and of course. That was perfectly sensible. Perfectly sensible for them not to be separated. He resigned himself to sleeping on the floor. Again. Phyllis only grinned enigmatically and turned to lead them inside.

Phyllis had their travel bags taken down to the room, a floor beneath the main and as secure as a safehouse. As an added benefit (and additional reason why Nigel stayed here whenever he could), the room had a small bath attached-- a large wooden tub that was piped full of the sulfuric water from the hot spring under their feet. Phyllis' business partner and husband Jack was a genius with plumbing, and had crafted a system of pumps and clay-coated iron pipes that brought water to the kitchen as well. He was working on a latrine system too, to carry waste well away from their source of fresh water. Phyllis didn't tolerate the filthy conditions of the city, which made her guests very loyal. Her ale, also made with the sulfur-tinged water, was legendary.

Nigel took the stairs with a clatter of heavy-soled boots, pleased to be somewhere familiar and safe at least for a little while. Adam, coming up behind him, took one look at the cozy room with its adjoining bath, smiled happily at Nigel, and began to shed his wet clothing right in front of Phyllis. Phyllis only smiled indulgently at him, and lifted a brow at Nigel, giving him an obvious look-over. "Speedily, Nigel; I haven't got all night if you want to eat." As if she set foot in the kitchen except to chastise her scullery and cooks. And so Nigel saw himself out of his own clothes, stripping down to his braies, and his various knife holsters. Two at his thighs, two at the ankles, two at his wrists, and two at his upper arms, not counting his belt and the various places he had them tucked into his clothing. Adam's eyes got wider and wider as more knives were exposed. Finally, he spoke.

"I did not realize that you carried them all on you at once," he commented. "You must weigh a full stone more with them on." He smirked, a tiny, precious thing. "Poor Groază."

"They would do no good in the luggage," Nigel rejoined, allowing a tiny smile to tug his lips upward. "And _poor Groază_ would carry the weight regardless, little darling." Adam smiled back at him, and just like that, they were at ease with each other again. Nigel felt a great sigh heave upwards beneath his breast, and masked it by going to dig into his pack instead. Everything he tugged out was damp. Trying to decide which would be the least uncomfortable to wear, he didn't see Phyllis shake her head fondly.

"Give me everything. I'll put it on your tab, Nigel, along with all you already owe me."

He tried to look innocently put upon. "What do I owe you, beautiful?"

"Well, for starters, the entire keg of ale you drank when you last visited?" Her eyes were playful, but Nigel was certain she kept his tally to a single fucking haypenny. He distracted her by shoving his damp clothing into her arms.

"Should we go about in our smallclothes, then?" He dropped his voice seductively. "Stand outside and drum up business?"

That got a laugh out of her, clear as a bell. "You in your skivvies outside my door might be worth the loss of business."

He gasped at her, and Adam laughed. She turned to him, grinning.

"Although this one… this one might turn us a penny or two." Adam choked a laugh and blushed bright red, and Nigel was delighted to see it flooded right down beneath his breastbone. Any more looking and he would put his hands in inappropriate places, so he turned to Phyllis with a plaintive eye.

"Trousers, at least, Bella, before you get me into trouble."

"Oh, you don't need my help, Nigel, for that." With a final wry look, she turned and carried her burden up the stairs, leaving Nigel and Adam together in a room with two pair of braies between them. Nigel groaned and turned to sit heavily on the bed. He watched Adam do the same, still pink with blush. 

Casting about for something to say that wouldn't humiliate him further, Nigel glanced at the door to the bath. "They have managed to create a system that brings the hot spring water into a free-standing bath here, Adam. We won't even have to fill it, but just turn a wheel to open the flow."

"Like the Romans?"

"Much like," Nigel agreed, relieved at the change of subject. "If you like, you can fill it to warm yourself, and I'll bring down food for you, so that you don't have to brave the common room. Or Phyllis."

Adam snorted. "I like her, Nigel."

"As do I, when she is not tearing me to pieces for something or other." 

Adam looked immediately concerned. "Does she hurt you?"

Nigel paused for a moment, confused. "Does she hurt me?" He cast back over what he had said, and realized how it sounded, in the literal way that Adam seemed to understand the world. "Oh, no, Adam darling-- I mean that she… chastises and lectures me when she thinks I am acting poorly."

Adam smiled at him with a flicker of genuine happiness, seeming delighted that someone might lecture Nigel. "Do you deserve it?"

"Undoubtedly." Nigel let himself look at Adam, at his delicate features and smiling lips. He was slender but not frail, the roundness of his upper arms and thighs speaking to steady labor, though not brutal. He was truly beautiful, and Nigel wanted nothing more in that moment than to reach across the space that separated them and touch. Just touch. Just once. Just… He tore his gaze away, aware that Adam was still looking at him. He wondered if Adam was still only fascinated by the scar, or if there was something else in his thoughts while he looked. He wondered if there could be any possibility that Adam might feel desire for him. And then he couldn't un-wonder it, and he gritted his teeth into the silence. Why he did not just take what he wanted, like he was accustomed to, he had no idea.

Phyllis interrupted his confusion by flinging a pair of trousers and a shirt at his head. He caught them by instinct, and gave her a grateful nod. She tossed clothing to Adam as well. "I usually have lost clothing lying around, but the only things I could find were my husband's, and I'm sorry that you will be swimming in them, Adam."

He smiled in thanks. "Thank you, lady. I… I promise I will take them off before I bathe, so I will not swim in them." He paused, looking mildly confused at the idea. "Please thank your husband for me." 

Phyllis pressed her lips together in an attempt not to laugh, her eyes dancing. Nigel could tell that she was completely charmed, and that he would be receiving the shovel talk sometime in the near future, fuck his life. Adam stood to tug on the pants, three sizes too large, and Nigel watched in amusement as he folded the waist from each side and cinched it with a belt. Nigel stood to dress as well, tugging on the shirt and trousers in relief. He was going to run, like a little dog, and sort out his thoughts later. If ever.

"You'll be alright, Adam?" he asked, a little gruff. Adam was already going to the door of the bath to explore, and he made a humming sound at Nigel before disappearing inside.


	8. Brimstone

Thus dismissed, Nigel made his way back up to the common room and settled himself easily into a table near the fire. Jack, a broad shouldered farrier who did a rousing business out of the connected stables, met him with two tankards of Hellfire ale, their golden goose. "Where's your charge?"

Nigel leaned over the tankard gratefully, and took a moment just to inhale its smoky sweetness. "He needs time to himself. To unwind."

"And will you tell me why you have come? Because as delighted as I would be to congratulate you on your honeymoon, I can identify the look of trouble you carry about you when things are particularly bad." Jack had that look that Nigel was unfortunately very familiar with-- hard and disobliging under a thin veneer of civility. He was a thug so his wife didn't have to be, although she was perfectly capable with a quarterstaff and stiletto. Nigel hoped he would not be losing his favorite inn over this messy business.

Giving himself time to think, Nigel took the tankard in hand and took a healthy swig. The deep rich ale filled his senses, and his eyes fluttered closed as his head tilted back at the swallow. The amber-colored ale was smoky and broad, with a tang on the tongue that could be smelled in the piss and sweat hours later. It was truly unique, and Nigel intended to polish off at least one untapped keg by the time they left. He could see his way to possibly making room for two. "How do you brew this so consistently, Jack?"

"It's the water, and I'm not letting you change the subject."

Nigel scowled at him, and Jack grinned, flashing the gap in his teeth where he had won a fight and but lost some dental pride in the common room many years ago. Phyllis came up to them with another mug in her hand. "Are you done grilling Nigel about his young, very handsome lord?" Nigel could see there would be no quarter from her direction either.

"Not yet." Jack gestured for her to sit and she lifted an eyebrow at what she thought of his permission before commandeering a chair from another table. "So, young and handsome aside, what is this about?"

With both Crawfords staring at him, he couldn't evade any further. "It's about the yellow powder. The brimstone."

Jack's brow creased. "I'm aware of it. It crusts over my pipes and I have to scrape them clean every month."

Nigel rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I need to purchase as much as you have of it."

Bella frowned at him. "Purchase? Whatever for?"

"I can't tell you." Nigel looked them both in the eye, hoping to emphasize how very serious he was. 

"But it's something to do with your young man?"

Nigel gave Phyllis an exasperated look. "The less you fucking know, the fucking better. And he's not… he's not mine."

Phyllis pursed her lips, and glanced at her husband. He shrugged at her, clearly leaving the business decisions in her court. After a moment, she nodded. "I have a small keg of it, the scrapings. I've sold it to alchemists before, and I'll sell it to you, even if you won't tell me why you want it."

"Name your price." As soon as he let the words slip, he knew his mistake, and barely Held back a wince.

"Are you… are you feeling alright, Nigel?" Jack sounded concerned for the first time. Nigel looked down at the table, rubbing a finger in the water ring left behind by the ale tankard. He sucked at his teeth for a moment.

"I'm bloody fucking perfect."

"I'll take 10 shillings for the keg."

Nigel calculated rapidly. That was over half their money-- no telling what they would need before the end of this. "It's worthless to you. 2 shillings. I shouldn't even offer that much, but I feel sorry for you."

"Obviously it's important to you. You're normally not so stupid in negotiations, Nigel. 10 and I'll feed and house you both for free. Tonight."

Nigel wondered what the likelihood of successful theft would be. Not good odds now. This had been a bad business all around, and he suddenly felt his own exhaustion hang around his shoulders like a wet cloak. "The brimstone, food and shelter for the night, for 5 shillings now and another 5 when this business is resolved."

Phyllis narrowed her eyes. "If you die?"

"If I die, Robin's on the hook for it. She’ll pay this debt." And she would, if he died. She would do that much for him.

Phyllis held out her hand. "Done. But I'm not paying for your drink out of it."

Jack laughed. Nigel grimaced, and finished his ale. Why he always came up on the short end of a bargain with Phyllis he would never suss out. 

***

"Adam?"

Adam heard the door unlock with a sharp click from where he was happily submerged in the bath. 

"Adam?" Nigel's voice was closer now, inside the room. Adam felt a smile blossom on his face at the thought of Nigel wishing to spend time with him rather than up in the common room with his old friends. He lifted his mouth above the water.

"Nigel? Come and see the bath-- it's marvelous! The water comes from a ceramic pipe in the wall, and it's already the perfect temperature for a bath, which I know because I got tired of waiting for you to come back." He straightened a little, sending water sloshing over the sides. "It's big enough to share!" It reminded him a little, actually, of Vanora's lovely bath, but twice as big. The thought of them both squeezing together into Vanora's bath gave Adam an unfamiliar little tremor in his belly, and he rubbed his hand over it to calm himself. He had, truthfully, been feeling this same flutter quite a bit over the last few days, and he couldn't remember feeling it before-- it was quite strange and he thought perhaps it might be something like fear, except it made him feel warmer, not colder. 

"I've brought us supper, Adam," Nigel called, and Adam heard the clack of a heavy tray being set down on a table. Adam hummed in the bath as he listened to Nigel relock the door, and then they were alone in the room. 

Adam knew it was time to eat, even a little past, but he didn't want to budge. "Come and bathe, Nigel, and we can eat after. I don't think I want to get out until I am wrinkled from being an hour in the water." He peered at his hands in the candlelight, his fingertips already beginning to prune. "Why do you think we wrinkle in the water, Nigel?"

"I'm certain I don't know," Nigel answered. Adam hummed to himself as the sounds of Nigel undressing filtered in from the half-closed door. The tug of clothing across skin, and the swish of fabric being folded, the unlacing of Nigel's heavy boots. Buckles… more buckles. The clinking of metal against metal. 

Hesitation. Another buckle.

His cheeks heating, Adam recalled what Nigel's body looked like with all of his knives strapped against his skin. He thought that he resembled one of the mighty Greeks, perhaps a Spartan, with the great gouge of his scar, and his heavy braid and curly beard. Adam remembered the powerful muscles of Nigel's arms and back, what he had glimpsed in the bath and in this room an hour before. Nigel's skin was golden in the sun, which Adam found very pleasing. Very pleasing, indeed. He would like to touch Nigel, he thought, right on his skin, to judge if it were as warm as it looked. He realized that the opportunity to do so would be presenting itself almost immediately, and the fluttering began again in his belly. 

And then Nigel was in the doorway, golden and bare, his hands full of knives, and Adam squeezed shut his eyes in sudden panic. He felt the water lap against him as Nigel climbed down into the bath, heard the clatter of the knives being set aside. Nigel heaved a great sigh as he settled into the water, and it was only after a moment of silence that Adam felt brave enough to open his eyes again, to see Nigel watching him quietly. The water crested halfway up his chest, exposing brown nipples and thick, silvering hair curling over his chest. Adam glanced down at his own chest, which he knew was bare, just for comparison. He glanced back up, and Nigel's scar caught his attention again. It was so vicious; Adam imagined that Nigel's ribs may even have been exposed by the cut. His fingers itched to touch. What had Nigel said, that he had washed it with vodka and tied it together with wire? A shiver laced down his spine at the brutality.

"You may touch if you desire so, Adam," said Nigel in a soft, rumbling voice. Adam looked up at him, hesitating, searching for any inkling of anger. Adam could only understand other people's emotions in broad strokes, and he was often wrong, but he thought perhaps Nigel looked calm. Calm enough, anyway. Adam nodded, and moved slowly to Nigel's side, settled half off the bench under the water so he could face the other man. Their knees bumped together, and then Nigel's knee slid between to be pressed inside his lower thighs. Nigel looked down to watch their legs close together under the water, and his mouth opened as if to say something and then closed again. Those dark eyes were raised to Adam's, and Nigel nodded his head. Permission, perhaps, or acceptance. Adam raised his hand and placed his fingers carefully against the damaged skin. It was warm and firm, ridged and furrowed. Adam traced his finger down the ribbon of the scar, and Nigel's eyes closed at the same time his mouth dropped open again. But still, he said nothing. Adam's finger slipped under the water, but he dragged his finger lower, down Nigel's flank to where the scar cut across his hip. 

Nigel's hand caught his, then, and held it against his hip, and Adam pressed his fingertips into the jut of bone there. He raised his eyes to Nigel's, but the expression on his face was totally incomprehensible. His eyes were only half open, his lips parted. If Adam had to put a name to it, he would call it… pain? 

He squeezed Nigel's hip. "I don't understand the look on your face. My father used to make faces for me, sad and happy and angry, until I could recognise them sometimes. But I've never seen the look that is on your face right now."

If anything, Nigel's eyes were even darker when they focused steadily on Adam's. His voice was rough and low when he spoke. "It's desire, Adam. I desire you."

Adam quirked a half smile and tilted his head to his own shoulder, uncertain. "I know that word. My father uses it when he talks about his friend, Tobias. That he desires that Tobias stay for something, or come and see something. But, I don't understand. You are with me right now. How can you desire what you already have?"

Nigel shook his head, his throat fluttering softly. He rubbed his fingers over Adam's hand, and then Adam felt his fingertips graze underneath Adam's own thigh. The fluttering in his belly plunged suddenly deeper, and he gasped out a little breath of surprise. Nigel's hand clasped under his knee and held without tugging. It was a calm touch, even if it was nowhere Adam had ever been touched before. Nigel squeezed his fingers briefly. "Because I don't have you in the way that I want. You aren't mine."

Confusion flickered through him. "People can't belong to each other, Nigel. Harlan taught me that. Isn't that why you're a Merrie?"

Nigel groaned, tilting his head back to expose his throat. He shook his head. "It's not that, Adam. It's more like... " But he didn't finish his sentence at all, but instead sighed, and took Adam's hand-- the one not still pressed to his hip, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed his fingertips. "When you touch me like that, I want you to keep your hand on my skin, because it feels good. Really fucking good. And it makes me want to make you feel good in return. Do you understand me, Adam?

Adam swallowed, watching his own fingertips pressed against Nigel's mouth, feeling Nigel's hand cupping the back of his leg. "I do… I do think I like the feeling of your hand on me."

"Do you, Adam?" Nigel looked as if he would fall forward into the water, so Adam turned and nudged closer to him, until their bare hips were touching. Nigel raised his arm around Adam's shoulders, and Adam allowed himself to relax against Nigel's chest, his cheek resting against the top of the scar. They settled there together, not speaking, for a long moment, and just eased into the heat of the water and of each other's bodies. The frantic fluttering in Adam's belly gave way to something warmer and deeper, a feeling of safety and not of loneliness-- exactly the opposite, in fact. He thought about how his brother would hold him sometimes, and this was that, except more… as if this were the beginning of something unfamiliar but wanted. Desired, as Nigel would say. 

"Is this what you mean by desire, Nigel?"

Nigel hummed, and Adam could feel it through his skin, a low rumble against his ear. "I don't know what you are feeling, but for me, yes, this is the beginning of desire."

Adam wasn't certain how to answer this. Instead, he remembered that he used to tell his brother stories, and thought of what Nigel might like to hear-- something to keep them together like this for as long as possible. 

"Do you know the story of Orion?"

Nigel canted his head gently. "Orion is a hunter, yes?" Adam hummed softly. "I remember that he kept watch over us on cold winter nights on the battlefields." 

Adam nodded happily, bumping his head against Nigel's ear. "Orion was the greatest hunter. He fell in love with the daughter of a king. But the king didn't want his daughter to be wed to a hunter, so he tasked him with killing every animal in the island kingdom."

Nigel opened half an eye at him. "What a fucking ridiculous task to set! What would they eat when everything was dead?"

Adam gazed up at him, pleased. "I asked my father the same. Because Orion did kill everything. So I don't know what they ate, after."

Nigel reached upwards and stroked wet bangs from Adam's forehead, causing a shiver that trembled through his entire body. "And did he win the daughter's hand?"

"No." Adam turned his nose slightly inwards so that his cheek was pressed in the divot where Nigel's neck met his shoulder. "The king broke his word, and Orion decided to try and take her by force. The king was very angry, but pretended to be rethinking his decision, and made Orion drink until he couldn't walk, and then blinded him and threw him into the sea."

Nigel shifted against him. "Did he die?"

Adam rolled his head softly back and forth. "No. He was given a guide, who took him to the palace of the sun-god, where his sight was restored. He fell in love with the sun-god's sister, and she shot him one day by accident. That's when he was put up into the sky."

They were both silent for a moment, contemplating Orion's fate. Finally, Nigel asked, "Where did he go wrong?"

Adam smiled at him. "He shouldn't have killed all those animals."

Nigel laughed. "It was the first in a long line of bad decisions." He took Adam's head in his hands and kissed his forehead. Adam, soft and warm and relaxed, didn't pull back from his hands, but stared at Nigel's mouth instead as he pulled away.

"His first bad decision was wanting someone who refused to fight for him, I think." Adam closed his eyes. "I always ended up feeling sorry for the hunter who was rewarded so cruelly for his faith."

"People cannot be trusted to do what is best for each other."

The way he said it made Adam feel sad, so he slipped his hand gingerly against Nigel's back and squeezed. "I don't think that's true for everyone, Nigel."

Nigel didn't answer him, and so they sat tucked together in the warm, candlelit silence until the water cooled. Adam roused himself when he shivered, and not from Nigel's touch. "I'm cold, Nigel."

Nigel hummed, and for a moment he didn't let Adam go. Eventually, he cupped a large handful of water and splashed it across his chest, and then moved to get up. Adam watched him rise out of the water, his wet skin glistening, and as he turned Adam wanted to touch his firm thighs but hesitated, not wanting such a touch to be unwelcome. It was not a touch he had ever desired to give before. And then Nigel was gone into the other room, and Adam remembered their supper growing cold, so he shifted himself out of the water as well. He felt suddenly shy to walk into the room with Nigel, both of them naked and wet, and stood for a moment frozen in indecision. Nigel returned with a thick dry towel and draped it over his shoulders, smiling at him. "Dry yourself, and you can put on your smallclothes and eat with me, and Phyllis will have our things in the morning."

Their food was simple and good, although Adam wasn't sure he liked the taste of the ale, and drank it only when Nigel insisted he drink something. Well fed, warm, and tired, he crawled into the bed, and watched Nigel prepare himself to sleep on the floor. But something about that didn't seem right to Adam, so he held up a hand. "There is room here enough for us both, Nigel," he suggested, feeling shy. Nigel gave him another unreadable look, and then dropped his head and climbed slowly into the bed beside Adam, carefully turning his back. Adam allowed that maybe the bed wasn't as big as he thought, but with Nigel right there beside him, he didn't mind so much. He fell asleep in the warm pocket between Nigel's body and the wall, drowsily pondering the strange feeling in his belly that Nigel had named 'desire.'


	9. Playing Field

Nigel woke slowly from a dream of the abandoned farmhouse. He dreamt this with unfortunate frequency, with all of the pain and fear still fresh and accessible to his dreaming mind. This one had been different, though, because in this dream he hadn't been alone there. He tried to recall the details even as they faded, and for a moment had a picture of a hand on his shoulder. That was all; it was gone. He blinked and took a deep breath, and only then realized that the hand on his shoulder was real. Adam was touching him. Adam's hot breath cascaded against the bare skin of his shoulder blade. A smile tugged up the corners of his mouth as he remembered the night before, warm touches in the bath, and then Adam's shy suggestion that they sleep in the same bed. It was not a large bed, for which Nigel was intensely grateful. 

A knock on the door startled him out of his sleepy pleasure, and he rubbed a hand across his forehead. Beside him, Adam inhaled sharply, the hand disappearing from his shoulder. Before Nigel could stop himself, he eased onto his back and turned to gaze at Adam, blinking in confusion on the other side of the bed. Nigel reached out a gentle hand and stroked a thumb across Adam's cheek. "Did you sleep well, darling?"

Adam blinked again at him, and then nodded. "I slept very well, Nigel. I didn't think I would at first, but you make me feel very… safe." He smiled sweetly, and Nigel had to restrain himself from licking that sweetness from his lips like so much honey. The knocking sounded louder.

"Nigel! Rouse yourself, and please for the love of God cover up anything I don't need to see!" It was Jack, hopefully with clothes, and although Nigel hated his timing, it was probably for the best. He gave one last longing look at Adam's mouth and then pushed himself into sitting. 

"Don't fucking lie, Jack; you've wanted me from the first time you saw me."

A key clicked in the lock, and Jack opened the door with his hand over his eyes. "I've wanted to punch you in the face, maybe."

Nigel heard a quick intake of breath from the bed. "Please don't hit my friend, Jack. He's been very kind to me." Nigel looked down at Adam, who was now propped on his elbow, his legs curling into Nigel's under the covers so that his warm toes were pressed against his shin. Adam's brow was creased in genuine concern. Nigel glanced at Jack to see him now staring openly at the both of them in bed together, his expression a war between surprise and disbelief. Eventually he found his voice.

"I'm not going to hit your friend, Adam, unless he does something stupid."

Nigel felt a hand on his shoulder, strong fingers curling into the muscle. "I would rather you did not hit him at all."

Jack's eyebrows could have climbed right off his face. Nigel openly grinned at him, basking in having a defender for once in his life. It was a lovely, warm feeling. He propped himself on his hands, careful not to shake Adam's hand from his shoulder, and turned his head to drag his jaw across Adam's fingers like an affectionate cat. Jack gave a disgusted grunt and tossed the pile of clean dry clothes at the foot of the bed. "When you two are done being nauseating newlyweds, come up for breakfast and we can be done with each other." He turned and left, but not before Nigel caught the smile he tried to hide. 

As the door clicked shut again, Adam turned to Nigel, confusion again on his face. "Why does Jack think we are married? Because we are sharing a bed?" he guessed.

Nigel pressed his cheek against Adam's fingers, wanting to hold him there, maybe forever. He weighed his words carefully, not wanting to frighten Adam away. "Our ease with each other must remind him of his own marriage."

"Oh," said Adam softly. He nodded. "I do feel easy in your company," he agreed. 

"And I in yours, darling." Nigel felt some urgency in getting up now, because his cock was waking in his smallclothes and he didn't want to have to explain it right at that moment to someone who had grown up so sheltered he had to ask the definition of desire. He did indulge himself by kissing Adam's fingers, very lightly, before he pulled himself out of bed and grabbed his clothing on the way to the bath, where he planned to wash and dress himself in private. And also to ease himself, privately, an absolute necessity if he was going to be able to concentrate on anything else today.

By the time he got back out, Adam was dressed and the bed was made up, and he was sitting on the coverlet with a book in his hands. His hair was a disheveled mess, which Nigel found impossibly endearing. He sat down on the bed and reached his hand slowly into Adam's space. "May I straighten your impressive bedhead?"

Adam grinned, his eyes light. "You may try. Better men than you have failed." Nigel laughed, and reached to comb his fingers through dense wild curls. He gave it his best effort, and when nothing worked, he retreated to the bath to wet his hands, and tried again. Adam watched him with unconcealed amusement. By the time Adam's hair was moderately tame, Jack was knocking on the door again.

"Nigel, hurry it up." A pause, and then, "Robin's waiting for you. Impatiently."

Nigel sighed at the last, grimacing impotently at the floor. "Fuck. I thought we had a day or two."

Adam cocked his head. "Isn't Robin your employer?"

Nigel sucked at his teeth for a moment, and then sighed. "Yes. I just hoped that she would wait until we had something to show her."

Adam's forehead creased immediately. "What do you mean, Nigel? Show her what?"

And this was it. Nigel's blissful almost-romance was officially over, and he hadn't even gotten to kiss the beautiful man on the mouth, much less press his lovely body into the mattress. He sat heavily back down on the bed, feeling deep frustration like a defeat on the battlefield. "Adam, we need help to rescue your brother." Adam nodded slowly. Nigel looked away, knowing exactly how this was going to go. "Robin's not going to risk her people for free. We need something to trade." Adam wasn't stupid. He knew they only had one thing of worth to trade. And he watched, miserable, as the only possible answer dawned in Adam's eyes.

"You are going to trade the black powder for her help."

Nigel shook his head, solemn, because Adam deserved all of the truth, no matter how much it was going to hurt. And he could tell that Adam had already realized what was coming, but was holding out hope. Nigel watched it die.

"You are going to have me tell her how to make it."

Nigel nodded. "It is the only trade she will accept. To even the playing field, because it is only a matter of time, Adam, before the king and his armies are able to produce more, likely from finding someone to give them the formula rather than learning backwards from what you made."

"It took me two years," Adam said dully. Nigel resisted the very powerful desire to put his hand on Adam's thigh in comfort. 

"They will not wait two years," Nigel agreed softly. "All this will ensure is that the king and his rich friends will not have the advantage of us."

Adam pulled away from him and stood. "All this ensures," he rasped out, his voice full of despair, "is that death will be simpler to deal on both sides."

"Why did you make it then!" Immediately, Nigel knew it was the absolutely worst thing he could say. Adam shrank into himself, squeezing his shoulders and sinking to the floor. Nigel watched him crumple in agony. 

"I wanted… I only wanted to make my father happy!"

Suddenly, Nigel could see Adam's small quiet life spread out before him. The strange boy whom no one understood, who was the eldest and the Count's heir but eminently not suited for court or politics. Who faced the constant disappointment of his father, who himself was a failure in the social scene. A boy so sheltered he had no outside influence, and read of the world only in books. How could he have guessed that people would be ravenous for this? He sank down on the floor beside Adam, not close enough to accidentally touch. He didn't want to know how unwelcome his touch would be now. "People will always disappoint you, Adam. I am sorry to be one of them." He sighed softly. "Sorrier than you know."

Adam turned further away from him, and Nigel's heart squeezed in his chest. He was a fool to have ever thought this would turn out differently. He hauled himself off the floor and finished tightening his knives and lacing on his boots. "Come. If you value your brother, this is our best chance to save him." And he didn't wait, but walked out of the room and down the stairs to the private room to have breakfast with the last person on earth that he wanted to see.

Gabrielle-- Robin-- was as beautiful as always, in her deep green traveling cloak and brilliant red hair. Nigel had often thought, in the early days, that she was lovely enough to be one of the Fair Folk, and had concluded after a years' aquaintence that she was certainly cruel enough to be so. She had allowed him to think her interested for long enough to secure his loyalty. He couldn't fault her for her tactics, then or now. She smiled at him now, kohl-lined eyes enigmatic in the dim light of the common room. "Nigel, how delightful," she purred. He sat down across from her and nodded to Phyllis, interrupting their conversation.

"Robin."

She raised a perfect eyebrow. "Nigel, you don't seem pleased to see me. Whyever not? Aren't we good friends?"

He wasn't going to bare his sorrows to her; she already had enough dirt on him to bury him several times over. Instead, he forced a smile. "The best of friends, Robin. Was the journey very difficult? How tired you look." She didn't look all that tired, but he couldn't resist the dig. She just smiled at him, pleased, no doubt, that his irritation was showing. 

"Where is your… friend?" The hesitation spoke volumes, and Phyllis had the good sense to look moderately ashamed of herself. She got up from her seat.

"I'll go check on him."

"Don't." It came out more sharply than he intended, and she raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't," he repeated more softly. "He will come when he is ready. But I would not mind breaking my fast, and I am sure Robin is hungry as well."

Robin smiled sweetly at him, and nodded to Phyllis. "That would be very kind, Bella." Phyllis nodded, gave Nigel a wry look that he couldn't quite interpret, and turned to the kitchen to shout orders through the door. Robin turned back to Nigel, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. "Bella tells me I owe her five shillings, Nigel."

"You can pay her all ten, if you like, since I am feeling rather fucking poor at the moment." He couldn't help it-- his disappointment was too close to the surface to hide. "It will be worth it to you in the end, I promise you."

"Really?" A flash of real interest colored her lovely eyes, green like Adam's. Nigel made the comparison effortlessly, without conscious thought. He nodded. "And what does the yellow powder have to do with it?"

"It is a key ingredient in the black powder." Adam's voice was flat, not even a hint of the lively intonation of before. He sat down stiffly between Robin and Nigel, refusing to look at either of them. "You have heard of the weapon called the fire lance."

Robin cast a curious eyebrow at Nigel, which he ignored. She nodded at Adam, humming thoughtfully. "They say it is powered by sorcery."

Adam gave an exasperated scowl to the table, squeezing his hands into fists. "It's _alchemy,_ " he grated out. "The black powder, when lit with fire, will expand with a suddenness that pushes projectiles out of an iron or steel tube with great force." He frowned tightly and then turned to Robin. "I will give you the secret to make it if you rescue my brother from Lincoln Castle."

Nigel knew the look on Robin's face; knew that she was preparing to bargain with Adam for more. Possibly to make it for her in exchange for the extraction, or even to work for her. Nigel slammed a fist down on the table before she could even begin, startling them both. "No bargaining, Gabrielle. What Adam is willing to give you will change the game forever, and you fucking know it." 

Robin frowned at the use of her name, even in the private back room. "What guarantee do I have that it will even work?"

"Gabi, he will not cheat you!" 

"Nigel, shut the fuck up." Her voice cut like steel. "Lincoln Castle? Do you have any idea what an extraction might cost us? I will not trade away the lives of my people for a possibility." She gritted her teeth and glared at Adam. "I will require collateral."

Adam nodded. "You may keep me," he said without a hint of emotion.

Nigel grabbed his hand, only to have Adam tug himself out of reach. He barely saw Gabi's smirk out of the corner of his eye. "Adam. This is not a… a _game_! Any hope of a decent, honorable life will be lost if you associate yourself with the Merries. You are a Viscount. You have an entire life ahead of you…" He tapered off at the visceral look of scorn on Adam's face.

"Nigel, I have _nothing_. My father will be labeled a traitor as well as an incompetent. My brother is about to be kidnapped out from under the English monarchy. I am already on the run, a fugitive from the court of the king. I have no home to go back to. Everything is _lost_!" At the last, his voice cracked, and his face crumpled in anguish. Nigel caught him as he slumped forward onto the table, and Adam tensed but did not resist as Nigel hauled him into his lap and cradled him. Adam's head was heavy on the meet of Nigel's neck and shoulder, his lashes wet. Nigel cast a venomous look at Gabi, at _Robin_ , as she looked at them both speculatively. 

"It looks as if you will get what you want, _Robin_ ," he snarled, "though you do not deserve him."

Her eyebrows raised, she looked coolly at him. "It is my price."

Adam nodded mutely against his throat. Nigel grimaced, vicious and impotent, and agreed to her terms. She left not long after, naming a meeting place just outside Lincoln in ten days, enough time to scrape together what black powder they could manage and cobble together a plan.


	10. Bargain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel really shouldn't drink so much when he's got a lot on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't seem to make the chapter counter work, but this is 10 of 14. Bless you guys for all the kudos and comments-- they are keeping me going!

They began their journey back to Pontefract in silence. Adam was slumped in his saddle, not reading but just staring at the ground, and Blackfeather nipped at Groază until, chastened, he left her alone. Nigel slipped uneasily back into his role of bodyguard, riding slightly behind and on the forest side so that he could keep Adam in his line of sight. Not because he thought Adam was going to run, but just… wanting to see him, as pathetic as that was. Nigel knew he had been fucked almost from the beginning, and now he was fucked without any prospect of fucking as well, and it settled inside him as an ache that wouldn't be eased. It was unlike him, he mused. There was a time in his life, a soldier flourishing under the command of a ruthless captain when he would have pressed forward and taken what he wanted. His captain's favorite line was that everything turned to blood eventually, so why not take whatever pleasure you could from it? And Nigel had wholeheartedly agreed, up until the point where everything had turned to blood for him. 

As if the day couldn't get any worse, Robin rejoined them on the road about an hour out of Sheffield. She eyed Adam with interest, pacing her charcoal jennet in an easy amble next to the delicate Arabian, and attempted to strike up casual conversation with him. Adam ignored her, so Nigel did as well, and they covered several miles of road half-listening to stories about life with the Merries. Nigel tapped the keg of brimstone with an impatient hand as she related stories about Nigel himself, but didn't interrupt or even bother to correct her when she told of his exploits with various men and women. It didn't matter anymore, and was worth frustrating her with his disinterest. Finally, as they came to the crossroads that led to Rotherham, she turned south. Her expression was thoughtful now, as she turned her attention to Nigel. "Travel with good speed, Nigel. Do not be late." He only narrowed his eyes at her, and turned Groază to move around her. It was moderately satisfying to realize that he was over his attachment to her, at least. Adam didn't even turn to look back at her as they trotted through the crossroads, which was the only thing as yet to put a smile on Nigel's face today. 

Long miles followed. They ate in the saddle, making steady time back to Conisbrough, and Nigel filled his pipe twice, smoking the rough tobacco to comfort himself. He was already contemplating continuing through the evening up to Adwick when Adam turned in the saddle towards him and spoke his name. "Nigel?"

Nigel sighed at the sound of his name, and nodded. "Adam?"

"Is it true, what Robin said about you and all of those people?" 

"Some of it," Nigel admitted. "Most of it." He sucked air through his teeth, masking his annoyance with Robin as he looked away. 

"Did you… were there so many… do you tire so easily of people?" And there was a strange, thin tone to Adam's voice-- an odd flavor of nonchalance that sounded false. Adam could not be accustomed to dissembling, and it was so obvious that the question meant something to him that Nigel took a careful moment to formulate his answer.

"You have the question from the wrong end, Adam." He raised his eyebrows, mildly. Adam looked at him curiously, and then his eyes drifted off as he pondered. 

"You mean to say that you are not the one that chooses to leave?"

Hearing it put so bluntly was a little humiliating, but at least partially accurate. "Not all the time-- sometimes I am with a person just to ease tension, and that is understood by us both."

"Ease tension?" Now Adam looked puzzled, which was positively adorable, and exactly what Nigel did not need to be thinking-- that Adam was inexperienced, and might someday want educating. He cleared his now-dry throat and changed the subject.

"Do you feel well enough to press on to Adwick, Adam?"

Adam cast a shrewd glance at him. "Do you not want to talk about this?" So much for redirection.

"I don't know what you want me to tell you. That I have failed in love, more than once? That people get to know me and then their interest wanes? You yourself have experience with this; surely you don't need more examples." That came out more bitter than expected. He fished for his flask and took a swallow of excellent rum-- Phyllis had topped his flask without comment before they had left. Good woman, that.  
Adam was silent for a long moment, and then, a little testily, he answered, "My interest in you has not waned. I am angry at you, and I am angry at Robin." He exhaled noisily. "I am angry at this entire situation. But I know that you did not engineer it, and that you have only tried to help me, with little benefit to yourself." Nigel recalled that morning, when Adam had clung to him for a long, anguished moment, before composing himself and going up to pack their things. He thought perhaps he may have benefited more in this than Adam gave himself credit for. 

A tiny spark of hope kindled in his belly. 

"Your interest in me?" he prompted. Adam threw him a look of irritated exasperation, as if Nigel had were the one to grab the wrong end of the stick this time. 

"I would rather not talk about that until I am not angry at you." He turned away deliberately.

Nigel made a purposefully noncommittal noise. "And how long do you think that will be, Adam?"

But Adam did not answer him, and Nigel decided not to press. He was pleased to have exchanged words in conversation, however terse. For now, it would have to be enough.

***

Adam was reluctant to stop, even at Adwick, but Nigel insisted that they rest the horses, if not themselves. Robin had paid for the brimstone and their board-- Nigel had only discovered this on their way out, and it was rare for Robin to display such a kindness. Probably she felt sorry for Nigel, and that rankled but not enough to turn down ten shillings. Perhaps half a pound wasn't a princely sum to her, but for Nigel that represented more than two month's careful savings, both from what Robin paid and from what he could win on the side in a friendly dice game or knife-throwing contest. So he was feeling flush with cash at the moment, and insisted on a room with two beds, a full meal for them both, and enough ale to drown out the voices in his head.

At supper, Adam deigned to join him in the uncrowded common room with a book. Adwick le Street was not large and also off the main road to Lincoln, although the old Roman road that bisected it did get fairly steady cart traffic. They settled at a quiet table in the pub called the Forester's Arms, and ate a light supper of roast pork and thick, nutty bread in silence. On Nigel's second pint, Adam lifted his nose from a book he was reading and frowned. "I don't drink ale or spirits because I dislike feeling out of control. I don't feel safe," he stated, apropos of nothing, which meant he had been likely thinking on it for quite a while.

Nigel grunted at him, asked, "Don't you ever drink to forget?"

Adam blinked, as if the thought had not occurred to him. Perhaps it hadn't. Adam knew so little about the outside world that the gaps in his knowledge could be startling. Instead of answering the question, he redirected with another, showing insight that both impressed and irritated Nigel. "What are you trying to forget, Nigel?"

"You." He hadn't meant to say it, and that was almost worse than meaning to. He shook his head in irritation. "Don't listen to me, Adam."

But Adam wasn't easily persuaded away from a topic he didn't fully understand. "Why would you want to forget me, when I am sitting in front of you? It seems…" Ha paused, thinking, his brow creased. "Inefficient."

Nigel grinned despite himself, a little huff of pained laughter escaping him. "Very inefficient, yes." He glanced up at Adam's face to find the young Viscount peering at him in the dim light with a curious expression, his eyebrows canted upwards and wrinkled between. He looked hurt.

"My presence is making you unhappy."

"On the contrary, your _absence_ makes me unhappy, Adam."

"Then why do you want to forget me?" Real confusion had crept into his voice, his hands flat on the table now, book forgotten.

Nigel sighed into his empty tankard. He was not nearly drunk enough for this conversation. He decided that he had so little to lose that it hardly mattered what he said, so in a rare moment he opted for the truth. "It's not you as a person that I want to forget, Adam. I like you. Very much. And I am glad that we have been friendly, in the time that I have known you."

"Then--" 

But Nigel cut him off with a raised hand, keeping his expression open. "What I want to forget…" He took a deep breath, and ignored how much of a bad idea this was. "Is the feel of your skin. The heat and the silkiness of it, when I cupped your thigh in my hand." Adam fell silent at once, his lips slowly parting. "I want to forget the drag of your fingertips over my scar, and the taste of them against my mouth. I want to forget how much I want you in my bed, bare skin on bare skin, hands and mouths and cocks." Adam's throat fluttered and his cheeks flushed an endearing shade of pink, and Nigel knew he had gone too far but in his defense, he was too far gone to care. 

Adam swallowed once, twice. "I don't know about any of that, Nigel." He glanced away, and when he met Nigel's eyes again, he looked almost angry. "But I do not want to forget how you have touched me. And I do not want to forget how I have touched you. But if that is something that you want, then I will make your job easier." He stood abruptly, turned on his heel, and stalked off up the stairs.

"Adam--" But he was gone, and Nigel was alone. "Fuck." He rubbed his hands over his eyes, and then scrubbed his face until he saw bright flashes of light in the dark. He would never cease to astonish himself with his uncanny ability to destroy his own happiness. Instead of getting up to follow Adam, he gestured for another ale, and refused to look the bar-back in the eye. If he saw one hint of unwanted pity, he was going to punch something.

***

The stairs were much more difficult to negotiate when they were moving, but Nigel gave them his most valiant try, and eventually found himself in front of their door. The key refused to work, and then as if by magic, the door opened on its own, and there was Adam, looking sleepily worried, taking his hand and helping him take off his clothes. He reached clumsily to cup Adam's face but Adam deftly, gently avoided the embrace, his eyes solemn. He was guided to a bed and pressed down onto it with a firm hand, and he did not argue. Nor did he protest when a warm body climbed under the covers behind him, and he fell asleep to the welcome feel of being cradled in the dark.

Morning hit like a dull, thudding hammer, hazy memory of warmth in the night, and a large tankard of water on the bedside table. Adam was already up and dressed, reading his book by the soft light of the dawn. He smiled gently over at Nigel and pointed at the water. "When my father woke after too much wine, he was always thirsty," he offered in explanation. Nigel nodded, winced, and nodded more slowly, and Adam sat down on the edge of the bed to help him drink.

"I did not scare you away, then?" Nigel asked hesitantly. For some reason, he felt shy, itself a very unusual feeling. But Adam just shook his head.

"I am more resilient than you think, Nigel. I don't have many friends, and you are among them."

"Then I am a lucky man." 

"More than luck," Adam murmured, and gently thumbed Nigel's hair away from his eyes. They sat for a moment in silence, and then Adam stood, Nigel's hand sliding from his hip where he had clasped him. "I will go and get us some breakfast."

"No fucking breakfast, Adam, gods." Nigel might be fine to ride a horse, but eating seemed totally beyond him. 

Adam grinned at him. "My father would say that too."

The road back to Pontefract was quiet but somehow the silence was easier to bear. Adam was back to reading, and they made good time, reaching Bors and Vanora's little farm well before dusk. Vanora met them with a scowl on her face. The yard stank bitterly of old shit, and at least three children were sitting dutifully at a large pile of it, brushing the white dust off of dry clumps of dung onto a spread sheet. Decima saw them first, and stood up to run and greet them, her brother Nonus right behind her. "Uncle Nigel! Uncle Adam! Look how much we've done!" Nigel dropped easily off Groază and lifted them both up, one on each hip, and kissed them. And then pulled back with a wince.

"Gods, you both need a good wash." Nonus giggled, and kissed Nigel's hair, his grubby hand tugging down on the braid. Nigel laughed. "And now I need a wash, thank you, you little demon." He set them back down again and they arrowed towards Adam, who kneeled to hug them both. Nigel turned to Vanora, whose scowl hadn't lifted. "Have you had success?"

"Aye, enough for a jar full of the evil stuff." She sighed. "I know it's valuable, but I'm just about to the end of my patience." Nigel nodded, and reached over to kiss her as well.

"For which we are grateful." He tugged out a little leather pouch, and handed it to her. "Robin is footing the bill, because she is buying up all that is left from our little excursion, as well as the means to make more." She weighed it and pocketed it without counting. 

"Sounds like Robin. She caught up with you, then?"

Nigel nodded. "In Sheffield."

Vanora raised an eyebrow. "She must have been motivated."

"She must have been certain of the value of her time."

Vanora shrugged off his mild accusation. "Harlan was here not long after you left," she said in explanation. Adam looked up at the name, and rose up off his knees to greet her with a fleeting kiss to her cheek. Nigel ignored how jealous that made him, and scowled at the ground instead.

"Harlan is alright? Is he still here?"

She smiled at him. "A little worse for wear, but he is fine. He sends his greetings and regrets that he was forced to leave the keg of black powder with the king's men."

"We expected so," said Nigel. He had hoped for different, but Harlan was not a fighting man, not anymore. "What else?"

She cast her eye at him, and at Adam, and then gestured them inside. "Come and have supper, if you can stand the smell."

Over a meal of potato stew and brown bread, happy stinking children on all sides, Bors told them the rest. "Harlan thinks that the keg of black powder is headed to the king's court rather than to Lincoln, but he can't be certain. The boy is still held there as far as he knows, and they are expecting some sort of rescue attempt. They will not expect you to have more of the black powder-- they have been keeping soldiers at Adam's father's home as well, and have confiscated everything." He turned to Adam. "I am sorry. Your father is fine, as far as I know-- he has been very open and welcoming to the soldiers there, and Harlan quite thought he was enjoying the attention. So." He lifted a jar full of whitish-grey powder from the sideboard behind the table, and handed it to Adam. "I will provide you with charcoal as well, but you must go in the morning." He looked mildly guilty, but not overly so. "You understand."

Both Adam and Nigel nodded, as Adam weighed the jar in his hand. "Thank you, Bors and Vanora. You have gone to so much trouble for a stranger. I will not forget you."

"Nor me!" squeaked Decima from her place at Adam's side. He grinned down at her, and stroked her hair.

"Never you, little dove."


	11. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feb 17, 2016: I added a small map to Chapter 2 just in case you want to know where these places are. The entire map is [here.](https://alcuinofyork.files.wordpress.com/2012/03/medieval-england-map.jpg) I'm incredibly grateful for you who take a minute to comment-- it means everything. *GLOMPHUGS*
> 
> This chapter. Finally.

That Adam spent the night pressed up against Nigel in the little bed in the farmhouse should not have felt so monumental. They had shared a bed several times already in the past weeks, but this time was _different_ , overshadowed by Nigel's drunkenly explicit bathtub confessions. It honestly should have frightened Adam off-- would have made some of the toughest soldiers Nigel knew insist on separate rooms. Against all common sense he was a warm weight against Nigel's back under the blanket. Nigel was so comfortable that he didn't want to move, even though he had promised Bors that they would be out first thing in the morning. Adam shifted against him, murmuring something unintelligible, and nosed at his shoulder blade. Nigel pushed gently back against him, reveling in the casual intimacy for as long as it lasted. A hand gripped his flank, right over the widest part of the scar, and squeezed. Nigel laid his opposite hand over Adam's fingers, rubbing lightly in-between his knuckles, and Adam hummed against his back. "Nigel?" came a sleep-rough query.

Nigel didn't trust his voice, so just hummed in return, trying to prepare for Adam to kick his way out of bed. Adam rolled onto his back, tugging his hand away in the process, and Nigel's heart squeezed behind his ribs. But Adam didn't leave, and after a moment, Nigel cautiously turned over and braced himself on his side, balancing an elbow above Adam's head so that Adam was sheltered in the lee of his body. He was careful not to touch. Adam had no such compunction, tucking himself immediately into the heat of Nigel's body, his thigh pressing against Nigel's waking erection. Nigel sucked in a breath, and then another, and then stroked his other hand across Adam's brow. Adam smiled, his eyes closed. "I always want to wake like this, Nigel."

"That can be arranged," he murmured. Gods, yes it could. He stroked his thumb over Adam's brow again, and then traced a cheekbone, his fingertips curling into the light scruff of Adam's unshaven chin. Adam gazed at him sleepily, moss-colored eyes actually meeting his.

"Will you come with me when I go to serve Robin?"

The thought of Adam 'serving' Robin stoked a fire of jealous fury in his breast. He skimmed his hand under Adam's slight frame and pulled him close, tucking his chin over Adam's shoulder even as he slid his hips the other way, pressing his aroused cock into the bed. "I will stay with you." Adam settled under him, sighing, and his arm came up to embrace Nigel, tangling into the hair at the nape of his neck. Nigel relaxed, letting his muscular frame melt against Adam's slender body. He could have easily settled in like that for several years, but the pounding of little footsteps in the hall indicated a waking household, and Nigel had made a fucking promise. He groaned into Adam's neck plaintively. "Make them go back to bed."

"Have you met Decima?" Adam rejoined, wryly, and Nigel pulled back slightly so that he was peering into Adam's face.

"Did you just make a joke, Adam?"

Adam grinned at him, and Nigel was an instant, half a heartbeat away from kissing him, but they had no time to do anything properly. He placated himself by stroking over Adam's hair. Twice. And then he tore himself away, because Adam was altogether too tempting. He dressed with his back turned, shoving his insistent erection down impatiently and drawing his belted pouch down over it in an attempt to get out without scandalizing anyone. Adam dressed just as quickly, and then pressed himself into Nigel's space and hugged him tightly. "Thank you, Nigel."

Nigel's arms went around him almost without thought, and he cradled him close. "What for, Adam?"

"For staying with me. You have no reason to." Adam turned his head so that his ear was pressed up against Nigel's heart. 

"I have every reason to, my darling," he replied. Adam smiled and clutched at him tighter.

***

Loaded with the brimstone, the saltpeter, and the charcoal, a few days' worth of food, and wearing their good traveling cloaks, they took their leave of Bors and Vanora and the children. Both Nonus and Decima chased after the horses, and Decima was still extracting promises of return visits as they lost sight of her behind a stand of beeches. They had several days travel to Lincoln, and at least part of that time was going to have to be spent on the black powder. They had eight days for a four day journey, but due to being expected by the king's guard, unfortunately would not be able to stay in any inns along the road and would have to carefully provision themselves and their horses from farms off the main road. Adam had insisted on at least three days of what he called 'observations' on the castle, so that left five days for careful travel. At Nigel's insistence, most of it would be by night, since Adam's horse was distinctive, and Adam refused to part with her. And so they made their way a good distance from the farm, taking back roads as they made their way south and east, and speaking very little. They stopped in a quiet little clearing well off the main road a few miles short of Adwick, tracking as closely parallel to the main road as they could. By noon, Adam was tired enough to agree to stop and rest until the sun went down. The constant stress of travel had worn him down, and even an easy-gaited horse like Blackfeather took a toll on a rider after a week on her back. 

He let Nigel make them a meal of cold ham and bread, and didn't stray far, staying in Nigel's proximity the entire afternoon. Adam dozed for a few hours before waking and rousing Nigel, and settling himself into a book while Nigel rested, curled around him. When the sun set, they both ate a light meal, re-saddled their reluctant horses, and wrapped up in their traveling cloaks to remain as anonymous as possible on the main road to Lincoln. Adam had never traveled like this at night, and kept gazing upward, lost in the patterns of stars scattered across the night sky. He grabbed Nigel's hand often and pointed upwards, excitedly explaining this or that configuration, and though Nigel didn't know them all, he was content to listen to Adam lit up with pleasure as he spoke long and well-learned. After his voice began to go hoarse, he fell silent, and then apologized. "I am sorry I talk so much. Harlan says I could put a rock to sleep." He glanced away, his face in shadow. 

"Harlan is an idiot," Nigel asserted, and Adam snorted a laugh.

"Harlan is the one who first got me interested in stars. He says in Arabia, in Samarkand, the stars are like a city of lights, spread across the bowl of the sky from horizon to horizon. And in the desert, it never rains."

"We shall have to go and see for ourselves." And as soon as it was out of his mouth, Nigel realized he was thinking of the future, of a future with Adam in it. He waited for the familiar curl of fear, of feeling trapped by a decision, but it didn't come. Adam leaned over his saddle and gripped Nigel's wrist.

"I would like that. Very much."

Nigel's heart thudded once against his ribcage, as he realized that he would, too.

They traveled the whole night long, trading stories and easy silence, and by the time the east was greying, Nigel's heart was lost. They were very near the road to Tickwell now, and in the greying half-light they tucked themselves deep in the woods in a little clearing with abundant tall grass and a little brook, and unsaddled their horses and tied them so that they could eat and drink and rest. Nigel untied his bedroll and blankets and brought it alongside Adam's to make a cozy space for them both to sleep. They ate some of Vanora's excellent bread and drank from the water keg, and Adam settled down comfortably beside Nigel, slumping tiredly against him. Nigel stared at him for a long moment, weighing his chances, and then made a decision. He knew he was risking everything-- every bit of the easy camaraderie he had gained with Adam over the long weeks of their travel. But the question was forcing itself out of his brain-- cracking his thick skull open in its frantic need to escape. It took his good sense hostage, tied his hands, and then spilled out of his mouth.

"Have you ever… kissed anyone, Adam?"

Adam smiled easily at him, the graceful slope of his nose and his slightly uneven eyes picked out in silver in the pre-dawn moon. "Of course, Nigel. I might be strange but I've still kissed people."

That wasn't what Nigel had wanted Adam to focus on-- his oddness, the way that he didn't fit into any simple social norm. Nigel shook his head. "You aren't so strange, darling." And he smiled, knew Adam wouldn't miss his gesture of happiness. Adam mirrored him. Nigel pressed on, lifting his chin in an attempt to look casual-- an attempt he knew was totally wasted on Adam, but perhaps making the motions would calm his fluttering stomach. "Tell me, who has kissed you?"

Adam tilted his head and pursed his lips. For a person who didn't read expressions, he was intensely expressive himself. "My father, once or twice when I was younger. My mother always kissed me goodnight, every night before she died." Adam's thoughtful gaze turned upward, and Nigel wanted to pull his attention back but he stayed his hands. "My brother, when he was younger, but not so much anymore now that he thinks he is grown." He grinned at that. "My nurses. And Harlan, of course."

"Harlan kisses you?" Nigel felt an ugly surge of jealousy bubble up from his gut. He looked away so that it wouldn't show on his face, because it was ridiculous, anyway. Harlan was Adam's father in everything but name. Adam rubbed softly at his own cheek, oblivious in his gentle way, and Nigel took a breath, scooted closer to him on the soft bedroll. "What about… people who are not your family?"

Adam looked puzzled, his head cocking slightly and brow pulling together in the middle. "I… no? I don't interact intimately with people who aren't my family." His eyes got very wide. "Except for this last month. So many new people," he said a little breathlessly. "But no one has kissed me, Nigel." He looked upwards abruptly, and flung out his hand, smacking Nigel on the chest. "Wait! Decima kissed me on the cheek." He grinned, triumphant, and only then realized that his hand was still pressed against Nigel's pectoral, the red lip of his scar under the thin shirt. He dropped his hand apologetically, and Nigel's gaze dropped to Adam's slender fingers now woven into the grass, tearing aimlessly at the summer-dry blades. Was he going to do this? He had faced warriors who had prayed to God that they would be the one to kill him. He had faced death with wire and vodka and a few shriveled potatoes. His courage had been tempered in the blazing furnace of extended war, and here he was, speechless and cowed in front of a man he could toss over his shoulder.

He took in a deep breath. "Have you never kissed for… for pleasure?" He missed nonchalance by a mile. This was going to kill him, he was certain. His heart, always so steady in battle, was hammering.

Adam gazed at him curiously. "Pleasure?" Like this was a word he had never spoken.

Christ's blood, he was going vibrate out of his skin. "A touch of the mouth on bare skin, for pleasure. To ease the longing that burns under your ribcage." He pointed at Adam's heart without touching.

Adam pressed his hand to his own ribs, his lips parted now, gaze dropping to his own hand. "I feel that sometimes," he admitted, his voice soft and rough.

Nigel's heart burst with a bright thump of pain. "Do you feel it now?"

Adam raised his eyes, looked straight at Nigel, and in the moonlight Nigel could see that his cheeks were dark with blushing. "Yes." And his eyes dropped to Nigel's mouth.

Nigel trembled. "May I… may I kiss you, Adam?"

"Kiss me?" Adam looked dazed, his gaze gone dark, still fixed on Nigel's mouth.

Nigel had to be certain. He was not going to fuck this up. It might actually kill him if he fucked this up. "May I put my mouth on your bare skin… to ease the longing that burns me… that burns between us?"

For a long, brutal moment, Adam was perfectly still. Nigel could imagine that exquisite mind parsing a thousand permutations, and it was impossible to think that out of a million answers, Adam could give him the one that he needed. An then, miraculously, "Yes." Adam's voice was raw, coming up from a place inside him so deeply buried that the moonlight was nearly too bright for it. Nigel shuddered a sigh, and moving slowly, bowed his head to the ground, the vulnerable nape of his neck exposed, and pressed his lips to the back of Adam's hand. The skin there was thin, slipping easily over bone and tendon. Nigel gingerly licked the tip of his tongue between the base of two of Adam's knuckles, and Adam gasped thinly above him, but did not pull away. Encouraged, desperately hopeful, Nigel slipped his hand under Adam's hand and turned it over, pressing his mouth into the palm of Adam's hand. His fingers curled into Nigel's jaw, so Nigel licked over the salt skin, gentle despite wanting to devour. He kissed upwards to the delicate inside of Adam's wrist, and felt Adam's body tremble.

A familiar beast roared up inside Nigel's chest, screaming at him to _taketakemark_ , and he gripped his abdomen with his other hand, pressing down over the scar with his fingers, reining it in. He raised his eyes to Adam's and was met with open heat, desire writ large across Adam's features. "Nigel…" Adam whispered through lips dripping open, and Nigel couldn't have held back another moment, not without tearing himself in half. As it was he could barely keep from pressing Adam back into the grass as he claimed his mouth, his hands skimming up over Adam's spine and shoulders to the back of his neck. Every heartbeat he feared that Adam would tear himself away, like he had often enough before, skittish at a touch, but Adam only sank into him, liquid and heavy, a wet moan escaping into Nigel's mouth as they claimed each other. Adam's lips were open, guileless, and Nigel licked shivering against his bottom lip, skimming the edges of his teeth and the tip of his tongue. Adam groaned and then his arms were around Nigel's neck and he was climbing into Nigel's lap without breaking the kiss, and Nigel folded him in his arms and fell gently backwards onto the heath, pulling Adam on top of his body until Adam's legs were sprawled on either side of him, their hips seated together, and Nigel thrilled to feel the press of Adam's arousal against the crease of his hip. He groaned into Adam's mouth; every trembling thread of intellect that wasn't focused on kissing Adam was fighting to keep Nigel from rolling on top of him, trapping him against the loamy ground and taking their pleasure together.

Adam kissed him open-mouthed and hot and wet, his tongue licking like a cat on the insides of Nigel's lips, his hands threaded through Nigel's hair. After long delicious moments of panting into Nigel's skin, he broke the kiss for air, lifting himself up to gaze down into Nigel's eyes for the second time. They just breathed together, Adam's chest heaving sweetly, and then Adam grinned. "I never kissed Harlan in such a way."

Nigel laughed-- he couldn't help it. His heart was blazing with joy. "Nor have I, little dove." Adam traced Nigel's bottom lip with a fingertip, and then kissed him again, soft. 

"I don’t want to kiss Harlan like this."

Nigel must hate himself, because he had to ask, "Who do you want to kiss like this, Adam?"

Adam grinned at him, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly as if notifying Nigel he was onto him. "I want to kiss you like this, Nigel." His hands tightened in Nigel's hair, tugging at the heavy braid. "Just you."

The beast in Nigel's roared its joyous, possessive approval, the only outward sign of which was Nigel gently tugging Adam back down to kiss him again and again. Adam went easily.


	12. Plotting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *HUGS YOU ALL*

They slept tangled against each other, Adam across Nigel's chest with the wool blankets pulled over them both. In the shadows on the edge of the clearing, the sun didn't pass through the leafy cover, and the shady cool let them sleep for several hours in blissful comfort, until the light finally pierced through their eyelids. Adam started awake with a squeak, and batted away a soft nose that was shoving at his hair. He turned awkwardly, still wrapped up in Nigel's arms, to peer up at Groază eyeing him curiously and lipping at his curls. " _Groază,_ " he groaned. Nigel rumbled a laugh underneath him.

"Jealous." Nigel squeezed Adam tighter, and then nosed at the soft skin below his ear, licking over the bolt of Adam's jaw. Adam laughed and squirmed against him, so Nigel rolled him over and pressed him gently down, leisurely continuing to kiss and lick a wet swath across his throat. With a plaintive moan, Adam surrendered, hands clutching hard at Nigel's shoulders, thighs splaying open. Adam angled into him, nosing at his cheek to lift Nigel's mouth to his as Nigel sank down into the cradle of his hips with a breathless groan, shivering with want. He kissed Adam's mouth, licked until his lips parted, rubbed his tongue over the back of Adam's teeth. Not wanting to overwhelm Adam with his weight, Nigel gently turned them back over so that Adam was sprawled over him again. He loved the feel of Adam under him, but was not in control of himself enough to think he might possibly resist fucking frantically up against the boy until they both came in a hot spurting mess. This was better. Adam having all the leverage was better.

But now Adam rocked back and forth slowly against Nigel's hard length, causing bursts of sharp pleasure to fire through his gut. His cheeks were bright pink, his eyelids heavy. "Oh..." he groaned, sounding blissful. "You're so hard. Why does it get hard like this?" 

If anything were guaranteed to white out Nigel's ability to make words, Adam had just hit on it. He never would have placed himself here, being deliciously used to chase pleasure while trying to summon the words to explain the most basic workings of sex to a lover. Nigel was losing far too much blood to all regions south just thinking that this may very well be Adam's first experience with sexual pleasure. He gripped Adam's hips with both hands and arched upward, making small circles with his hips that lit up small explosions at the base of his spine. Adam shuddered beautifully in his hands, mouth dropped like an open flower on Nigel's neck.

"Do you like it? The way it- fuck! ...feels?" Adam's mouth opened on a moan. He nodded, his cheeks hot against Nigel's throat. It said a tremendous amount that Adam chose not to chase the answer to his question right at that moment. And Nigel had to ask, had to know. "Have you never done this before? To yourself, in private?" When Adam shook his head, Nigel thought for a moment that he might actually die. "Gods, Adam. Let me," he whispered, desperately. "Let me, please let me do this for you." And to sweeten the raw edge of begging in his voice, he rotated his hips even harder, snapping his fat erection across Adam's, mourning their trousers in the way but resolved to do this slowly. Adam made a lush, wanton sound from the back of his throat and ground down harder, clutching Nigel's biceps with surprising strength. Nigel held him down, his hands slipping from Adam's hips to his ass as he grazed his fingers into the sensitive skin just behind Adam's bollocks. He pressed his fingers in hard to the place that was rooted inside Adam's body, a taste of what was possible, and that was all it took. Adam seized up, panting, and then came against Nigel's hip with a long shuddering wail.

For a long moment, long enough that Nigel resigned himself to struggling with a painful erection for the rest of the day, Adam shivered and panted against him. Nigel stroked his back and kissed what skin he could reach. After a while, he slowly came back to himself, and lifted his eyes to Nigel's. His cheeks were flaming red, his mouth kiss-bruised. He looked astonishingly beautiful, absolutely debauched, a creature from beneath the grassy hills rather than above. Nigel's heart thudded in its cage as he gazed on Adam in amazement. "You are the most beautiful fucking thing on the face of the earth," he managed, stroking along Adam's cheek. Adam kissed his hand and then wriggled his hips, causing another shock of desire to bolt through Nigel's belly, and he groaned. Adam slid halfway off, and peered down between them. 

"Your cock is still hard, but mine is no longer."

Nigel nodded, his voice wrecked. "You came. I have not. It is not important."

Adam's eyes went comically wide. "You didn't experience that, the same as me?" Nigel shook his head, smiling ruefully, and began to mentally gather himself, but Adam stopped him with a hand to his belly. "Did you not… want to?" Adam asked, his tone implying that Nigel was actually insane. 

Nigel tucked a hand behind his head. "I really fucking do, Adam," he assured, a little breathlessly. "But I also don't want to overwhelm you, since this is new to you."

Adam grinned at him, then, a little disbelieving, and leaned down to kiss him. "I want you to feel like I feel, Nigel." His eyes were dark as his gaze dropped lower. "Show me what to do?"

"Gods, are you sure?" But he was already reaching to free his cock from his trousers when Adam nodded emphatically, licking his kiss-bitten lips. Nigel tugged himself all the way out, tucking the waistband of his trousers under his balls, and gave himself a slow stroke. He groaned in desperate satisfaction. "You don't need to do anything but watch, Adam, if you want." He cupped his other hand to cradle his balls as he stroked, dry and a little painful and so incredibly fucking good. Adam's eyes were wide as he watched, and then his hand moved gently in-between Nigel's hand and the fragile skin of his balls, and Nigel groaned again, deep and frantic and gods, he wasn't going to last with Adam's hand on him. Adam rubbed across the wrinkled skin, gentle, and then dragged his fingers back slightly behind and pressed inwards, exactly as Nigel had done to him. A sharp gasp of surprise startled out of Nigel's mouth, and he pressed down into Adam's hand as he stroked himself, hard and fast now and his body began to seize and his vision go fuzzy white as his orgasm blazed down his spine and out of his cock in a molten spatter that got all over his shirt front. 

When he was able to focus again, Adam was gazing at him with a dazed expression, his fingers stroking through the cooling mess that Nigel had left on his clothing. He sank back down onto Nigel's chest, careless of the spend that smeared into his own clothing. Or maybe on purpose, Nigel thought with a jolt of heat that made his balls ache. Gods, he thought helplessly as he laced his fingers through Adam's hair, _gods._

The rest of their afternoon was an incredibly lazy one, interspersed with playfully feeding each other and languid and frequent kissing. At some point Adam managed to get a wet cloth to scrub at the stains on their clothes, but it was a pretty hopeless endeavor. They would have to wait to wash them when they could afford the time to stay and wait for everything to dry. Nigel rather liked it-- the vision of Adam in clothing stained by his own spend was very appealing. But Adam's trousers would be stiff and uncomfortable, so perhaps in the morning they would be able to spend the time to properly clean themselves. At sunset, they both climbed back on their rested horses and turned their noses southward again, easy in each other's company in a way that Nigel hadn't experienced before. Sex for Nigel was easier than companionship, and this intense feeling of affection was unusual for him. Having sex and affection with the same person at the same time, well… he would have thought a necklace of manticore teeth less rare. He intended to hold on to this with both hands.  
…

Harlan was waiting for them on the crossroad to Tickwell, and he looked like he had been waiting much longer than he had expected to. Adam was delighted to see him, insisting on Harlan dismounting so that he could be hugged properly. Harlan spent a long time looking Adam over, and Nigel was sure that even in the half-light he hadn't missed the sizable lovebite that Nigel had sucked into the soft underside of Adam's throat just a few hours before. Harlan's eyes met Nigel's with a fierce and entirely predictable anger, before he turned Adam away with a possessive hand on his shoulder. He couldn't hear what Harlan asked, but he could guess. Adam started away, glanced at Nigel, and then laughed. "No! No, he hasn't hurt me, Harlan." At Harlan's overt statement of disbelief, clear to Nigel from his face, Adam replied, "No, it was.. he is very much wanted." He glanced shyly back up at Nigel, whose grin was blooming both smug and proud. Adam wanted him. Harlan followed Adam's gaze to settle on Nigel, who was grinning like an idiot now.

"If you hurt him…"

Nigel quirked an eyebrow at him. "Isn't it a little early for the shovel talk, Harlan?"

"It's never too early for the shovel talk, Nigel."

Adam's face crumpled into confusion. "What is a shovel talk?"

Nigel indicated Harlan. "Where he threatens to kill and then bury me if I hurt you."

Adam looked at Harlan, amazed. "Harlan, please do not threaten Nigel." He glanced again at Nigel, a little slyness coloring his expression. "If he hurts me, I will take care of him myself."

Harlan stared for a beat, then laughed and looked away, shaking his head. "I forget that you are no longer a boy. Forgive an old man his protective nature."

"As long as you remember that I was the one who destroyed the attic with a handful of dust."

***

With Harlan traveling with them, an annoying self-appointed chaperone, Nigel did not get to act on any of the fantasies he was gathering in his mind, but he did enjoy giving Adam long, slow looks of pure desire than never failed to send a blush spilling over Adam's cheeks, and lower. Instead of sex, they spoke of Harlan's travels in the East, and Adam's excited discussion of plans for an observatory in Samarkand, deep in the desert where no lights would obscure the skies. He talked of his years of experimentation with the black powder, and the many frustrations of failure and lack of materials. Nigel told a few of Groază's many war stories, always emphasizing the bravery of his gelding over anything he might have done. Speaking of war had a tendency of making Nigel melancholy, but the antics of his brave mount had both Adam and Harlan in stitches. When he related the tale of Groază's apple thievery behind enemy lines , that involved a night's tense chase for him and a miserable few days of a very nauseated horse who then refused to touch an apple for years, Adam laughed until he cried. And Nigel was overcome with the conviction that making Adam laugh might be even more magnificent than making him come, and that was a perplexing thought, if anything had ever been.

They passed the road to Gainsborough, which paralleled the river Trent, and spent the night near the river in a sheltered copse of trees. Harlan shared his food and wine with them, and they stayed up late in the morning quietly talking. Then, with uncharacteristic kindness, Harlan offered to take first watch. Adam kissed his cheek, evoking only a very tiny burst of jealousy in Nigel's belly, assuaging it immediately when he climbed into Nigel's bed and curled up warm against him. Nigel expected another lecture once Adam dropped off, but Harlan only watched the boy in silence for a moment, before turning to Nigel with a thoughtful look. "You are good for him," he offered.

"I didn’t need you to tell me that," returned Nigel, but more gently than he might. "He is good for me as well."

Harlan hummed in reply, not offering an opinion. Nigel slept with his body curved around Adam's, at peace.

*** 

All three of them took shifts to watch, now that they were so close to Lincoln, but no one came up on them from the depths of the trees. When the sun went down, they ate a quiet meal, and then mounted for the last night of their journey. The air felt more tense this time, as Adam prodded Harlan for information about Charlie's capture. Was there a map of the grounds and floorplans of the keep, had they charted out the rotation of the guard, did they know where Charlie was being held, how many soldiers were on permanent hire and how many temporary. Harlan explained everything that he knew, that Charlie was likely in the keep itself, raised up on its terraced hill, rather than in the outlying guard towers. That the guards were bored but not unwary. That there was a good amount of business within the wide walls of the keep during the day but that both gates were shut tight at sundown. Adam took all this in with quiet deliberation, letting Blackfeather keep up with her old friend Henry, the grey gelding from his father's stables as he stared thoughtfully ahead, hands lax on the reins. 

They made camp outside Lincoln right at sunrise, along a winding path that led deep into the sheltering trees. Less than a dozen Merries were gathered there, crawling sleepily out of bedrolls and a few sturdy and well-traveled oilcloth tents. Nigel knew most of them and liked even fewer, so he didn't bother with introductions. Robin was already up and dressed and eating a breakfast of pan-fried local fish, and she indicated that they should sit and eat as well. Nigel brought Adam his food and left Harlan to get his own. After they had eaten, Robin stretched her arms and shoulders lazily. "I need to speak with Adam, alone. Nigel, there is a place for you in Harlan's tent. Nigel made to protest, but Adam shook his head, kissed Nigel's cheek, and smiled.

"You are close. I am safe. I'll come and find you shortly, I promise." With an amused glance at Nigel, Robin took Adam with her to her tent, leaving Nigel cooling his heels.

Adam spent the remaining days sequestered away with his powders and his tools, not even letting Nigel close. He had offered help, but Adam had refused him. "I don't have my tools. I am hopeful that the entire mix won't explode prematurely, but I can't promise anything, Nigel, and I would rather not risk you." Which left Nigel feeling both warm from his regard and frustrated that Adam was risking himself, but Robin gave Nigel job after job collecting information on the cycle of the guards and studying a map of the castle, creating battle plans. They were obviously outnumbered, and such a mission was barely one step up from suicide. Harlan and Nigel and Robin plotted late into the night, every night, until Adam appeared in the tent one afternoon, hands black with charcoal dust, and declared that he was done, and did they have any parchment paper and glue and good heavy string?

Robin sat back on her heels to study him. "Give me the formula, and I will find whatever else you need."

Adam frowned at her, his face adorably smudged. "Not yet. After we succeed."

"What if you die?" she asked, and Nigel was standing and moving towards her before he could hear over the roaring in his ears. Adam simply watched, unconcerned.

"I will tell Nigel the formula. You will have to make sure that at least one of us survives."

Nigel breathed out through his nose, fists clenched so hard that his tendons were beginning to ache. "Both of us will survive, Adam." He felt more than a little wild, a heartbeat away from throwing Adam over his shoulder and damning everyone else to blazes. But Adam smiled at him, disarming.

"That will be the best ending we can hope for."

Robin pursed her lips in thought. She took in Nigel's barely controlled violence and Adam's calm demeanor. Harlan raised both eyebrows at her, and she sighed, capitulated. "As you say."


	13. Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are wonderful. Seriously wonderful. You are the stars in my sky and the cigarettes in my pack.

The rescue mission began well after dark, the moon a dim glow obscured by clouds. The keep was situated on a tall artificial hill, well above the lay of the town of Lincoln. They had been skulking for hours in a thick copse of trees just outside shooting distance of the walls-- Adam, Nigel, Robin, and two more of her trusted lieutenants, two archers by the name of Margot and Alana. While they waited, Adam had given everyone involved strict instructions and a long, heartfelt lecture just what exactly this black powder was capable of. Ten minutes to midnight, a tiny delivery door set into the wall opened soundlessly, courtesy of one of Robin's well-placed Watchers, and one by one they flitted across the bare grass and inside the walls. Each of them carried a shielded lantern along with a pouch of several small parchment-wrapped tubes. Alana and Margot carried a bit more gear than the others, and they peeled off from the group with excited smiles, heading up the servant stairs by the dark and empty kitchen on silent feet. 

Robin was playing thief tonight, a specialty of hers, and ducked into the main hall of the keep, heading to the gallery staircase that led up to the upstairs halls. She had sent word with her Watcher, a chamber boy who had full run of the entire complex and was entirely beneath notice (a very good trait for a spy), for Charlie to be prepared, and after a long and tense wait, the boy sent word with another Watcher, a scullery maid who was responsible for the shopping, that Charlie would be in the library, but guarded. As she disappeared, Nigel wrapped Adam in a tight hug, breathing in the scent of his hair and the strange smoky tang of the black powder that still dusted his cheeks and hands. "Come back to me," he murmured against Adam's neck, kissing the tense swell of his shoulder.

Adam put a hand to each side of Nigel's face and peered up at him, eyes sharp. He stood on tiptoes to press a kiss into Nigel's mouth, and another, and Nigel's hands slid to his hips and it might have devolved from there but for the first stroke of the cathedral bells in the town below. Adam tugged himself away, reluctantly, and gave Nigel a rueful smile. "I will see you in a little while, Nigel."

"Don't be late, darling."

They parted and dashed through two separate doors. Nigel reached into his pouch and unshielded his lantern, fingering the little cylinders inside. Adam had tested one, only one, and Nigel was still reeling from the shocking sound of it, a sharp cracking boom that filled the air around them with shit and feathers as every bird and squirrel in a half mile's radius launched into the sky. He remembered Adam's delighted grin as he indicated the stretch of canvas he had tied to the trees above them as shelter, the pattering sound of wet droppings like raindrops against it. "The first time I did this, I had to wash my hair and all my clothing twice," he had said, laughing. Nigel had just shook his head in amazement, the sound of the explosion of powder still ringing in his ears. Now he twirled the little waxed string from around the body of the tube and waited for the last bell. At eleven rings, he lit the string, waited for it to catch, and tossed it into the corner as he walked through the door.

Three.

Two.

One.

Above them, on the ramparts of the keep, a shocking roar thundered through the air and vibrated into the stones-- Margot and Alana with their arrows fitted with the larger tubes of powder. Adam would be thrilled that the wind didn't snuff out the flame on his modified wax string. A few counts later, Nigel's lit tube roared to life, making his ears ring as the floor shuddered. From deeper in the castle, another roar of sound-- that would be Adam. Nigel sprinted through the halls, lighting another tube with more confidence, as the first ringing shout rose up, courtesy of the chamber boy. "Dragon! Dragon attacking!" The hallway behind Nigel boomed as his damaged hearing began to pick up the sound of clattering guards, of the castle waking in frantic surprise. He ducked into a short hallway, which the floorplans indicated led to another servants stair. Two footmen plunged out the door just as Nigel lit a third charge, and their eyes went wide as dinner plates at him. Before they could do anything stupid or brave, Nigel tossed the lit tube back out into the main hall and then jumped back through the door, pulling them both bodily with him. Shielded by the door, the blast was only slightly less terrifying, and the footmen screamed out in shock. Nigel took advantage to shove past them, heading up the stairs and towards the roof. He lit one of the remaining charges and tucked it into a corner of the stairs to discourage the servants from following him up. As he leapt up onto the next landing, the boom of the powder was accompanied by the sound of shattering wood, and a sharp stab in his calf. He grunted in pain, a sound he couldn't even hear, and reached down to tug out a six inch splinter that had penetrated right above his boot. 

Fucking insane.

He kept going up, now limping slightly, to the third floor. This particular staircase didn't go all the way up, so he would have to go back out into the main halls of the keep, where he was also supposed to meet Adam. If the faint sounds of havoc were anything to go by, Adam was doing just fine. Nigel shoved open the door, right into the surprised face of three of the castle guards. He froze, considering his options, as they focused from uninformed terror to understandable threat. Judging them too close for throwing knives, he tugged his heavy-bladed anelace from the pommel tucked behind his hip and lunged, surprise his only advantage. A mad scuffle ensued, where he managed to at least temporarily dispatch one with a sharp jab up through his armpit. Robin had specified no deaths unless absolutely necessary, but as Nigel took a blade through the top of his shoulder, he grimly wondered if she would care if he didn't make it out. As he slashed upwards into the throat of another guard with the heavy steel hilt of his dagger, collapsing his windpipe, he wondered if Adam would be better off without Nigel to fuck up his life. As he was contemplating these things, he heard his name, a sharp shout over the ringing in his ears and the grunting of the guards with their fists in his belly. "Nigel! Shelter!"

And he watched in astonishment as Adam, running from a side hall, threw his largest charge into the cup of a lit torch and dove right into the fray. Nigel plunged to the side, reaching for Adam and tugging him down beneath the unwitting guards as the hallway erupted into flame with a deep boom that shook the walls and eliminated the rest of Nigel's hearing. A guard landed heavily on him, eyes open, blood everywhere, and Nigel shoved him off, shaking. The guard was bleeding from his ears and nose, and bits of flaming tapestry floated on the air currents, illuminating plumes of smoke and char. Adam shouted something at him, but Nigel could hear nothing but the sharp piercing ring of a bell, painful and loud. He shook his head, and then pulled Adam against him, running his hands down Adam's body to check for injury. Adam pressed up against him, his eyes lit with infernal joy, and then lifted himself, tugging at Nigel's hand. Nigel managed to drag himself from under the pile of stunned and bleeding guards and staggered to standing. Adam took his hand more tightly and then pulled him in the direction of the stairs up to the ramparts of the castle. 

The rest of the journey upwards was thankfully untroubled, and Nigel managed to press in front of Adam to be the first out of the tower door. He stumbled on the stones, now blind as well as deaf, and felt the floor under his feet tremble as an echo of a boom sounded in his ears. Peering outward, he saw Margot just now relaxing her bow pointed out into the courtyard of the castle, and Alana on the other side of the keep pulling hand over hand at something invisible. Nigel lurched in Alana's direction as Adam worked on jamming the door with an iron bar. Nigel lent his hand to Alana, pulling up a thin hemp rope, and soon they caught the end of a much heavier hemp rope tied to the end of the first. Alana unhitched the heavy iron anchor from her belt and tied a secure hitch around the handle of the anchor. Nigel tucked it into an arrow notch cut between two sturdy blocks of stone and waited for it to be pulled tight on the other end. The flare of a flame arrow lit the sky momentarily, and Nigel motioned to Alana.

"Your job is done," he said, unable to hear himself, and grinned. "Now you get to test the rope." She gave him a pat on the cheek and called lightly over to Margot, who evidentially could still partially hear. Margot nodded and trotted over to the rope slide. She untucked a short rope with a loop on each end and wrapped her wrist securely in it, handing the other end to Alana. Margot kissed Alana on the mouth, winked cheekily at Adam, and then they both took a running leap and plunged off the edge, the rope snapping tight on either side of the slide rope. In seconds they were gone, over the edge of the wall. Nigel took a moment to gather the first rope, winding it loosely as he untied it from the other. Robin would regret the loss of the valuable heavier rope, especially one of that length, but the most they could do would be to cut it at the other end and salvage what they could. Well, she was getting paid enough to fucking afford it.

Adam stood staring at the other door, where Robin was to come through with Charlie. Nigel eyed their escape route, urgency chewing a hole in his belly, and then limped over to Adam to wrap him in his arms. Adam relaxed slightly against him, but they were both tense as they waited for the door to open. Shouts from the keep below them hadn't lessened in intensity, and they kept well out of the line of sight of anyone on the ground, tucked behind a wall. Another blast shook the stones beneath them, and Adam shook his head sharply, and dug into an ear with his finger as if trying to clean out the blockage. He turned around in Nigel's arms, mouthed, "Can you hear anything?" Nigel shook his head.

The wooden door across from them flew open and a skinny boy tumbled out, with Robin on his heels. She lit another cylinder with her guttering candle and tossed it back down the stairs, slamming the door behind them and shoving the iron bar down on it. Catching Nigel's eye, she began running for the slip line, tugging her belt off as she ran. Adam started for Charlie, who looked like he might be in shock, but Robin grabbed him and swung him around, looping the belt around his arms and grabbing the other end. She shouted something and gestured at the frozen boy, and Nigel leaned over and picked him up, swinging him over the edge of the parapet. He struggled frantically, and Nigel shouted, "Don't let go!" and hoped that he heard. Then he gave the boy a shove. Robin and Charlie began the slide and he kicked furiously until she wrapped strong legs around his hips and squeezed him, hard. And then Adam was looking behind him and shaking Nigel's uninjured shoulder, and the first door was bowing outward, and they took hold of the cord between them and leapt off the wall.

The descent was fast-- faster than he might have predicted, and at a sharper angle, and his injured shoulder was a red wash of pain all the way down. They just barely cleared the hill and hit the ground hard, and they were going to have to leave the rope because there were already shouts from the wall. Nigel was hurting, not badly injured but enough to slow him down, and he staggered gracelessly across the yard, weaving as he did but still expecting an arrow in his back. The others dashed ahead of them, racing to the copse where their horses were waiting with provisions for several days. Adam ran just in front of Nigel, weaving erratically with him, and at the first whistle of an arrow they plunged into the trees and onto their horses, and from there they scattered into the winds.

Robin had dismantled the temporary camp earlier in the day, and everyone there was heading to all points of the compass, including their two little Watchers from the keep, where it was no longer safe. Robin was heading deep into the woods between Sleaford and Tattershall, where she had a tinker's caravan waiting for them. From there, she was heading back to Sherwood, her own deep and impenetrable fortress. Nigel and Adam took the roads to the west, in heavy cloaks and hats, and if the stink of the burning black powder followed them southwards, no one would know what it signified.

Two nights in the saddle, riding hard over back roads and through uneven fields and groves of trees, coupled with a day of uncomfortable sleep in the rain had both Adam and Blackfeather in the foulest of moods. At first, flush with the success of his black powder tubes, and with the relief of rescuing Charlie, he was joyful. But as the miles stretched long, as their hearing slowly bled back into something like normal, the stress and exhaustion combined to drag him low. The first time they stopped to rest, Nigel had needed to ask Adam to clean out the stab wound and the lesser wound in his leg, which Adam done with the rest of the spirits in Nigel's flask. The shoulder wound needed a good cleaning and stitches, but they had no tools to do so, and settled for binding it with a length of clean linen torn from one of Nigel's shirts. Once he had the injury under his fingers, Adam couldn't stop apologizing for it, even though Nigel assured him that it wasn't his fault, that it was minor. And it was-- he had endured far more for much less. He rested with Adam in his lap, just holding him, and let him settle his ear against Nigel's heart. 

The rain continued for the entire time they were on the road, and by the time they reached Robin's caravan, they were both spent beyond exhaustion. She had reached it a day earlier, and Charlie was there, his expression that of open relief. The brothers embraced tightly, and for a long while neither of them spoke. Nigel smiled softly at them, relieved for Adam's sake that at least one part of this had turned out to his benefit. Robin sidled up next to him, and his smile faltered. He indicated his bandaged shoulder. "Some medical attention would not go amiss, Lady."

Robin scowled at him, at the reference to her former noble heritage. He just did it to piss her off, which was counterproductive but fun. She shook her head, and her eyes were less irritated than he expected. "Yes, I will not miss the chance to stick a needle in you, Nigel. I love to cause you pain, however small."

He grinned at her. "I'm certain that not having my fawning adoration stings a fair bit, so I won't begrudge you a few stitches." She cast him a coy look that carried more than a hint of calculation.

"Yes, well, thank you for Charlie-- he makes a much better lover than you ever did." Her eyes were tilted in a way that meant she had intended to be cruel, that she expected Nigel to be reeling. He studied himself for a long moment, searching himself for hurt or betrayal, and came up empty. It surprised him, and it surprised her. She actually looked away for a moment, a gambit collapsing when she least expected, and that was really fucking satisfying. 

"Don't break him in half. Adam will be upset." Within his words was the mildest kind of threat, but that was common currency between them. She raised a playful eyebrow, recovering quickly.

"Oh no. He's very flexible. And innocent. It's delightful." And here she was prying, wondering if Nigel had found Adam equally innocent. Nigel shot her a dry look.

"I am glad that you are delighted, Gabi." And to his surprise, he meant it. He had already let her go. He gave her a soft smile, and kissed her forehead. "Robin," he corrected himself, and she nodded, and forgave him. But she still enjoyed punching a needle through his skin.


	14. Caravan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is it about the Spacedogs fandom that has me writing so much porn?

Adam spent an emotional few hours in his brother's company, as they told each other everything that had happened since that terrible day in their father's house. The stories were punctuated by exclamations of disbelief, mostly from Charlie, who could not believe that his shy, socially retiring brother had come all that way for him. Charlie's own story had been stressful but fairly monochromatic until about a week before his rescue, when his keeper, a Lord Chilton, had become increasingly insistent that Charlie had to know the secret to making the powder. Which Charlie did, to a point, except the ratio, which was the key to everything. Adam had kept that a secret from everybody, for which he was grateful now. He knew that they would eventually figure it out, and that it would likely come from another corner of the world entirely, but he was glad that it was still a secret for now. And Lord Chilton had not hurt Charlie, although he had threatened to withhold food and books. Charlie laughingly told Adam that he had made friends with the kitchen maids, and that a lack of books would not be a problem, since he was thoroughly sick of Latin and all of its declensions. 

When Charlie whispered that he had tumbled into Robin's bed, Adam held his hand as he attempted to describe his awe and astonishment at the act. Charlie was breathless with longing as he tried to put into words the feel of her ankles locked behind his hips, and the give of her body and the feeling in his own like he was going to die. How tender she was, how gentle with him. He wheezed out as he collapsed on his back, his face lit up with wonder. When Adam admitted to kissing Nigel, to spending in his pants over Nigel's hips, Adam hugged him close, his eyes wide. "He looks so dangerous, Adam! He is twice your size!" Adam's belly felt warm at the thought of it, and he grinned hazily at his brother.

"He is no more dangerous than your Robin, and she is taller than you, besides, so you have no room to talk." Charlie snorted in agreement. He squeezed Adam's hand.

"Do you want him?"

Adam had never before been truly clear on the idea of want until now, and he told his brother as much. "I will not leave him, Charlie. Where he goes, I will follow. Do you understand?"

Charlie gazed over at Robin and Nigel by the fire, and nodded. "The way he looks at you, I think perhaps he would follow _you_."

Adam grinned. "I hope then that we do not end up walking in circles." Charlie laughed, and they hugged each other, content to be back in each other's company at last.

Much later, when the sun was sinking low over the horizon, Nigel came to Adam and gazed at him, his expression unreadable but somehow recognisably soft. Adam thought that his own face might look similar, because that's how he felt-- all the edges worn away; safe. Nigel took his hand and kissed it, and then stood. "Come with me, Adam. Let me take you to bed." Adam rose easily, a grin of anticipation impossible to hide blooming across his lips. 

"Does that mean that we are going to sleep, or are we going to do more of what we did before?"

Nigel smiled at him, and it had the same soft edge as before. "Whatever you decide. It is up to you, what we do."

Adam stepped into him, already certain of what he wanted, but he voiced it so that Nigel did not misunderstand him. "I want to do more of what we were doing before."

"Kissing?" 

"Yes, kissing," Adam agreed, playful. "How did you say it once, with mouths and hands and cocks?" He felt himself flushing at the thought of Nigel's cock, and how it had felt against his hand.

"I did say that." Nigel thumbed across Adam's cheek, and it felt like so much more than a simple touch. "I want to take you to bed, and do more with mouths and hands and cocks, until you forget how to speak any word but my name."

Adam didn't think he would ever forget how to speak, so he shook his head doubtfully. "I don't think that's possible, Nigel."

"That sounds like a challenge, Adam." And without another word, Nigel bent his knee and swept his uninjured arm under Adam's knees and lifted him up. Adam shouted his name, and Nigel nuzzled his cheek as he walked Adam over to the cart that held their bed. "Like that, but more of it, and louder." Laughing, Adam squirmed in his arms, but not hard, because he really did not want to get away. Nigel set him down to work the catch on the door, and ushered Adam up the short steps and into the cart. It was enclosed, and the floor was taken up with a wide mattress and several thick blankets and pillows. A few candles in glass jars illuminated the inside, which was sparse of decoration but had a well-kept partial suit of leather armor in the corner, as well as several sheathed swords and daggers and a few trinkets from Nigel's travels. Adam lay himself out on the bed, tugging Nigel down next to him, and nosed gently into Nigel's cheek.

"Is this yours?"

Nigel nodded, breath hot against his neck. "This is the closest thing I have to a home. Groază endures the occasional indignity of being a cart horse." He settled onto his back, gazing around the little space. "I know it isn't anything like you are accustomed to…" 

Adam rolled his body over until he was straddling Nigel's hips, watching him intently. "I was wondering if I could use that bookshelf to store anything I come across in our travels." He indicated the partially full bookcase on the back wall. "Would that be alright?"

Nigel was quiet for a long moment, his mouth working. His eyes glimmered strangely in the candlelight. And then he pressed his hands to Adam's thighs, and nodded. "That would be perfect."

"I'm glad that's settled," Adam murmured, and sank down for a kiss. 

Nigel's hands were wide and warm on his back as Adam licked into his mouth, dragging his tongue over Nigel's lips as he opened them, and then inside, against his teeth and tongue. It was an incredibly intimate touch, totally beyond Adam's experience, and he felt his own body open and sprawl over Nigel's. Hands rucked up the hem of his shirt and tugged it upwards until Adam had to break the kiss to pull the shirt off over his head. 

Yes, he wanted this, yes. 

He got his own hands under Nigel's shirt and pushed inexpertly, trying not to weigh against the stab wound as he skimmed his fingers through the wiry curls of hair on Nigel's chest, over the ropy scar and the thick muscle overlaying Nigel's stomach and flanks. Nigel arched and wriggled, grunting with hurried effort as he raised his arms gingerly over his head and Adam dragged his shirt off, careful of the new stitching. Half-bare, Adam pressed his body down, the curve of his belly fitting perfectly under Nigel's ribs, and into another kiss. Nigel's hands slid over Adam's back and under the band of his trousers and beneath, squeezing against his ass, and oh, Adam wanted that too. He breathed a moan into Nigel's mouth as he wriggled out of his trousers, and when Nigel couldn't reach far enough to get them down, Adam hauled himself up on his knees to help. He tugged off his boots and threw them behind him, against the door. 

Nigel grinned up at him. "Eager."

"Mmm," Adam replied, smiling. "Get out of your trousers. I want to feel you." 

Nigel made a small, helpless sound, and arched his back, lifting his hips off the bed. Adam gave a sharp tug, and inched backwards as he pulled down the trousers to expose Nigel's legs, and all of his knives besides. Nigel began undoing the laces and buckles on his arms as Adam laughingly did the same to the four sheaths wrapped around his thighs and calves. He finished by pulling the trousers off with the boots, uncovering another sheath wrapped around Nigel's ankle, and undoing that as well. All the knives were stacked neatly in a pile by the mattress, the trousers and boots merely abandoned in a pile. Adam let himself look, finally, as Nigel lay peaceably under him, long legs and half-hard cock, narrow hips and powerful torso. He breathed out, overwhelmed and entranced. "You are so beautiful, Nigel."

Nigel tucked his uninjured arm behind his head, relaxing under Adam's gaze. "You are the first to say so."

"Everyone else is an idiot." And Adam could not resist any longer, bowing his back to press his mouth against the hot skin of Nigel's thigh. Nigel shivered, groaning. 

"Gods, Adam."

Adam kissed up Nigel's thighs, licking over the salt tang of sweat and the taste that he was learning was purely Nigel. As he kissed upwards the tantalizing scent became stronger, until he nuzzled into the meet of Nigel's thighs, his nose tickled by the curly hair that sprouted thickly there. Each of them groaned, and Adam lifted his eyes to Nigel's, ready to beg. "May I kiss your cock? Please?" 

"Adam…" Nigel moved restlessly under him. "Yes, gods, Adam." 

Nigel's surrender was heady. Adam shifted his hips against Nigel's knees and breathed in the rich smell of them together. "I like the sound of my name from your mouth." And he dropped his mouth over the hot, thin skin of Nigel's cock, the flavor of him thick and meaty there, and licked upwards. Nigel shuddered and slid his fingertips over Adam's cheek as Adam closed his mouth over the base of him. 

"Don't bite down, Adam," Nigel pleaded, and Adam nodded, understanding at once how very sensitive this skin could be. He licked lavishly up Nigel's cock to the tip, and Nigel stuttered out a loud groan, deep in his throat, and Adam chased that sound, letting his lips close down over the head and sucking against it. Nigel's hand gripped his chin lightly, trembling, and pushed his thumb against Adam's mouth. "Wait, stop, Adam, please."

Adam pulled away reluctantly, licking at Nigel's thumb instead. "Does it not feel good?"

Nigel gave a shaky laugh. "Too good, Adam. I'm going to go off like one of your black powder charges and I desperately want to be inside you tonight." 

Adam allowed himself to be pulled upwards, curious. "Your cock inside me?" He couldn't imagine how that would work, unless, "But you were inside my mouth just now." Nigel nodded at him, and leaned up to lick at Adam's mouth. They fell to luscious kisses for a moment, as Adam's body slid upward. For a moment, it seemed like Nigel might be struggling to speak. Then he took a shuddery breath. 

"Let me show you, and it may be strange for a moment, but please trust me when I tell you that you will most certainly like the way it feels." Adam nodded immediately. Obviously he trusted Nigel; for him to ask was unnecessary. Nigel gently rolled Adam onto his back, and then kneeled above him, lifting Adam's thighs under his hands. He slid Adam's body closer to the back of the cart, and then sank down so that his mouth was hovering over Adam's cock. "I can't resist you, Adam." And he gently slid his mouth over the head, rolling the fragile skin down with his lips. Adam's body lit up like a conflagration, as he shouted out Nigel's name. Nigel's mouth was all wet heat and pressure as he sucked. If Adam had thought that rubbing up against him felt amazing, then this was twice as vivid, this intoxicating blaze igniting at the base of his spine. As Nigel's tongue licked over the crest of his head, Adam keened helplessly, his entire body shaking apart. He writhed, shoving his cock upwards into that perfect heat. Nigel groaned around him and pressed his hips to the bed, sucking downward until Adam was engulfed, until it was all he could feel, until his body shook and seized and he felt his vision going dark.

"Nigel! Nigel, augh, GOD NIGEL--!" In a cataclysm of fire his spine locked and his entire body exploded outward into white hot flames. 

When his senses came back, slowly, Nigel was breathing hard at the crease of his thigh, and licking at the soft skin of the join. Adam could only pant out his astonishment for a moment, and then gaze dumbly down at Nigel smiling softly back up at him. "I think the entire camp might have heard that." Adam fell back, his shoulders still trembling, and giggled weakly. Nigel continued to lick at his skin, gently over his balls now, and behind. 

Adam moaned quietly now. "You were meant to be inside me. I couldn't stop. Felt so good."

Nigel kissed him, under his thigh. "Never apologise for screaming my name like that. I am not done with you, darling, if you will be patient with me." Adam trembled as Nigel lifted up his hips, Adam's thighs spread open and completely relaxed. Nigel nosed down behind the tender skin of his balls to lick tiny licks at his asshole, and his hips jumped at the intimacy. 

"Nigel?" he whispered, confused and aroused again in equal measure.

"Trust me, beloved." He paused. "I will stop the moment you don't like it, but don't ask me to stop because you think I might not want to do this." He licked over the rim of Adam's hole, an astonishing lightning bolt of sensation, and paused again. "Do you not like it?"

Adam only managed a tiny sound of disbelief. "I like it, Nigel. Please, I like it." Nigel sank back down, licking long stripes of incredible intensity. For such a tiny place it felt like Nigel's tongue was at the very center of his being. And then, incredibly, Nigel pressed the tip of his tongue _inside_ , working gently around Adam's rim until Adam had lost the ability to think of anything but the stunning feel of it. For long, lush moments Nigel's tongue was Adam's entire world. He arched into it, pressing into Nigel's hands against his ass, and his cock began to fill and straighten. "Nigel," he moaned, shivering all over again. "Nigel, nnngh oh God…"

Nigel pulled away for a moment, keeping one hand against Adam's ass as the other reached for something on the shelves above Adam's head. It was a small bottle, green and stoppered with a cork. Nigel kissed his chest, and grazed his mouth over the nipple above Adam's heart. "Oh…" and now he wanted this as well, wanted everything that Nigel could possibly give him. He ran a shaky hand through Nigel's long hair, down his braid, to the warm sweaty skin of his back. Nigel kissed and licked at his other nipple as Adam lifted his body up, wanting. 

"I am going to press my finger inside you, Adam," he said, reverent like he was in a church. "It might feel strange and uncomfortable at first, but I have to stretch you to fit inside you. May I do this?"

Adam rolled his head to the side to meet Nigel's eyes, and nodded. "I trust you, Nigel." Nigel smiled at him, and uncorked the bottle and tipped it into his hand. A familiar smell spiked the air, but his hazy mind couldn't place it. "What is that?"

"Olive oil, to ease the way." And very, very delicately, Nigel swept his oil-slick finger around Adam's rim, where his tongue had been before, and pressed inside. Adam squirmed at the odd fullness of it.

"I am glad that you warned me."

"Is it alright?"

Adam nodded, because it didn't hurt-- it was just strange. Different. He relaxed back into Nigel's finger as he pressed slowly inside, and Adam dropped his gaze to his own cock, which had flagged slightly. Nigel kissed his throat, licked against the join of his neck and shoulder, and then sucked down on the skin there, hard. One finger rolled around slowly inside him for a long, lazy moment, and then a second finger pressed inside. Adam tensed against it, but it still wasn't a bad feeling, so he relaxed again, deliberately, and focused on the feeling of Nigel sucking a mark into his skin. Nigel parted his fingers, and Adam felt the stretch deep inside, coming with a tiny twinge of pain that eased after a moment. He felt himself drifting now, halfway to aroused, his body alert to every brush of Nigel's body against him. Safe. Nigel stretched him again, gently, and then pressed upward inside Adam's channel, and a spark of deep rich heat shot through him. "Nigel!" He arched again, pressing downward. "Do that again!" He felt Nigel's teeth against his skin, biting down on a growl, as Nigel pressed upward again, and Adam's body convulsed with pleasure. Adam groaned, panting, and shoved downward again. Nigel, without pausing his kisses to Adam's throat, lifted his hips and cradled him on his forearm, then tugged a pillow to ease underneath. He added a third finger, again with the greatest tenderness, and worked them until Adam was open and writhing again, cock curved against his belly and leaking wet dribbles against his skin. With a grunt, Nigel slowly removed his hand, and Adam reached down to stop him. "It's good, it’s so good, Nigel, please…" 

Nigel opened the little bottle of oil, this time to slick his own cock, and Adam could see that his hands were shaking as well. "I'm going to put my cock inside you, Adam," he said, almost too low to hear, his voice rough. "Tell me if it hurts you and I'll stop immediately. Do you understand?" Adam nodded, half out of his mind with the thought of Nigel inside him, and let go of Nigel's hand. Nigel thumbed at Adam's hole, a charged stab of arousal shuddering through him, and then the blunt head of his cock was pushing slowly inside. It was slightly more of a stretch than three fingers had been, but it was there, right there, and Adam moaned in absolute rapture at both the feeling and the thought of Nigel inside him. Nigel took hold of his hips and guided himself inside, until he was seated deep in the core of Adam's body, and Adam had never, _never_ known that this was possible, that two people could be this close and not be the same person. "Alright, Adam?"

Adam gripped at Nigel's shoulder, managing only barely to remember the other one was injured. He grabbed hold of Nigel's flank with his other hand, and wheezed out a barely recognizable "Nigel, yes!" and then Nigel was drawing back and pushing back in, and there was nothing in the world better than this, the two of them like this. Adam tilted his hips up and drew his legs around Nigel's hips and locked his ankles and urged with everything he had that Nigel start moving faster. Nigel shuddered, and thrust up into him, and again, and groaned aloud. "I am not going to last, Adam, not like I want to," he ground out as he pushed into a hard rhythm, hips and ass flexing powerfully under Adam's ankles.

"Nigel! Nigel, nngh, NIGEL!" Adam held on to him, oblivious to everything but the cresting torrent of pleasure that was building up in him again, deeper and even more intense than before. He thought he might die-- he thought he would not argue if this was dying, he thought he might shudder right out of his bones at this gorgeous build in the cradle of his hips. Nigel gasped out, gritted his teeth, and squeezed his hand over Adam's cock, stroking in tandem with his hips, and Adam squeezed down in return over Nigel's cock inside him, and Nigel howled Adam's name, and Adam's world whited out in a stunning blast of absolute ecstasy. 

***

A thumping sound woke him, and Nigel peered blearily up at the door. The inside of the cart smelled deliciously of sex and oil and Adam's body under him, still deep asleep and smiling sweetly. He had passed out after the last astonishing orgasm, and only surfaced to paw at Nigel weakly, like a kitten, when Nigel had dragged a wetted cloth over his skin to clean him. After, Nigel had slept, dreamless and content, until this. He carefully extracted himself from Adam's sleeping weight and moved to open the caravan door, not bothering to cover himself. Outside stood Robin, a furious blush tinging her cheeks and ears. He grinned lazily at her. "Sleep well, Robin?"

She blushed even harder. "We would appreciate, for everyone's sanity, if you and Adam would go on ahead. Alone."

He couldn't help the laugh the bubbled up in his belly, an effusive joy that he was not familiar with. "Did we keep you up late?"

She scowled fiercely. "You know _very well_ that you did." She thumbed at her ear, a nervous tell. "Charlie thought that you were killing him, you know." And she looked pained, before a giggle escaped. "I had to explain." She was trying to look angry, but Nigel knew her well enough. He rubbed the back of his neck, thoroughly entertained. Robin palmed her forehead, shaking ruefully. "We will give you a day's head start, Nigel."

He cocked an eyebrow at her, merciless. "Are you sure that will be enough?"

She smacked him on the forearm, then, pained laughter hiccupping out of her chest. "Gods, I hate you." He leaned out, totally unconcerned with his nakedness, and kissed her cheek. She slapped him away. "You reek of sex."

"We will meet you in Sherwood, Robin." He gave her one last long look and grinned, and then climbed back inside and shut the door. He crawled back into the bed with Adam, who pressed sleepily against him and muttered something that might have been good morning. Nigel kissed him on the temple, stroking a hand down his body, and Adam purred low in his throat. Nigel decided they could spare a few more hours for rest. Or not rest.


End file.
